


Being the Exerpts from A HObbits Tale

by Kyprish_Prophetess



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Cultural Differences, Gen, Traveling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-14
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2017-12-08 11:04:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 30,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/760616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyprish_Prophetess/pseuds/Kyprish_Prophetess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Traveling with thirteen people of a different race than yourself was bound to create misunderstanding and cultural clashes. These are a series of inter related short stories, in no particular order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Bilbo felt incredibly out of place as they traveled, and wished, rather than being at home, that the Company was filled with hobbits.

It wasn’t the dwarrows fault (except Thorin, who looked at him like he was something on his boot) exactly; most of them had tried to at least be welcoming. No, it was closer to distrust, perhaps even subconsciously.

Bilbo knew that typically dwarrows were more suspicious and less trusting than hobbits were, and for good reason. Certainly they had been given little reason to trust anyone in these latest years, with the destruction of their home and the wanderings of their people.

And considering his obvious reluctance in leaving his home and his fear of, well, everything he didn’t recognize, they really had no reason to immediately trust him. 

But it didn’t lessen his annoyance that they wouldn’t let him help at camp; he could cook, at the very least, and certainly collecting firewood wasn’t out of his skill level. He had camped, regardless of where, and disliked that he was essentially a burden on the Company.

He’d offered, only to be chased away from the fire and told to stay put when he tried to help with the wood. Annoyed, he moved to sit on the other side of the fire, away from the others. He huffed, before examining himself. His legs were scuffed and his clothes dirty, but nothing needed repairs of anything else he could distract himself with. He could smoke, he supposed, but leisurely sitting around would only make his obvious lack of usefulness all the more apparent. He just wanted to help! If he didn’t, why would he have even come along?

Scowling now, he bent a bit to examine his feet, which bore the brunt of the dirt on his body. Usually they would be fairly clean, and the hair along the top brushed neatly, but he didn’t have that luxury, and didn’t believe there was a point to keeping them up anyway. He’d only be filthy later anyway.

“Mister Boggins, did you forget your shoes?” He looked it up, and dropped his foot back to the dusty ground. Masters Fili and Kili were sitting nearby now, bowls of stew in their hands. He frowned in confusion, looking between them, before glancing at Gandalf, who appeared not to have heard.

“Ex- excuse me?” What on Middle Earth were they talking about?

“Shoes, Mister Baggins! Cover your feet, keep them warm and protected from harm? You ought to have them, you know. Forgetting them in the Shire is one thing, but we’re heading through the mountains soon enough. You’ll be needing the extra protection.” They both looked amused, which clued Bilbo in to their joke.

They were making fun of him! His scowl deepened, and he pulled his feet closer to the log he was seated on, partially hidden from sight.

“I don’t need shoes, Master Fili. Please, dismiss it from you minds.” He hoped they would leave it alone; they weren’t far in their journey yet, and having to deal with their light-hearted teasing would be tedious. He hoped it was light hearted, at least. 

Kili seemed to disagree, and began to open his mouth when Thorin called them both back to the other side of the fire. They went, and Bilbo hoped it would be the last of that. A hobbit wearing shoes indeed!

XxX

Three days later, Fili and Kili seemed to have realized how much this shoe business bothered him, and brought it up often. Thankfully they were often away from the others; Bilbo didn’t want another song detailing his lack of shoes, of all things! 

“Come now, Mister Boggins, we’ll be passing another village within a few days, perhaps you ought to get a good pair of boots.” Fili said, and grinned when Bilbo turned to glare at him. 

“No need to be embarrassed, everyone forgets something! Granted, shoes seem an odd thing to forget, but really! You ought to be thankful we’re both so attentive!” Kili’s voice had risen, not much, but it was, unfortunately, enough.

“What’s that, lads? Mister Baggins, do not tell me you didn’t bring shoes?” Bofur was looking back at them, curse it, and at his voice, the others were beginning to look. Gandalf and Thorin were the only ones who seemed not to have heard, at the other end of their camp and speaking lowly.

“No, I did not.” Bilbo was about to continue, when Kili cut in.

“He seems to have forgotten them back at his little home! We may have to get some in the next town, it isn’t seemly to have one of our Company so ill-equipped.” Bilbo was horrified to find that the others were nodding with Kili’s statement. He stood, quickly, and his pack clattered as it fell from his lap onto the ground. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“Now see here! I realize that I am rather unused to travel, and certainly less prepared as you all, but really! There is no need to be so insulting!” He scowled at all of them, and even more so when he realized that both Gandalf and Thorin had looked up at his raised voice. 

“I am going to collect firewood, and I would rather that I didn’t hear another word about my feet, or you may find yourself at a loss for a burglar once again.” Before the others could move, he stomped out of the camp into the trees. He heard his name, but it was unclear who had spoken, and he didn’t bother turning around.

XxX

“Well, there was no need for that. We were only trying to make sure he was prepared for the snow.” Kili sulked, sitting in Bilbo’s abandoned place by the fire. Fili nodded, frowning.

“Perhaps teasing that he forgot something like that wasn’t the best idea.” Bofur pointed out, as he tended the fire. He watched the direction that Bilbo had gone from the corner of his eye.

“Someone who manages to forget something that important ought to be prepared for teasing, and a good deal worse besides.” Dwalin muttered, from where he was cleaning his axes. They didn’t need it, per say, but he found it a useful way to occupy his hands.

“Oh dear.” Gandalf murmured, so quiet that only Thorin, who stood next to him, noticed.

“Did you hope he would be entirely prepared for a journey he didn’t even wish to join? One he was woefully under trained to undertake?” The Wizard looked up at him with a crooked brow, before looking around at the others, ending on Balin.

“Master Balin, perhaps you noticed what your fellows did not. Were there any shoes in Bag End? Or indeed anywhere in the Shire?” Balin frowned, shaking his head.

“No, I dare say I did not, Master Gandalf. In fact, I had thought a hobbit would not have any reason for them, with that hair and how think the skin looks.” Gandalf nodded, and peered at the members of the Company again.

“Hobbits do not wear shoes. Ever, even in the deepest and coldest of winters. The skin is indeed thick, as is their hair, to the point that no hobbit would ever go out with shoes. In fact, think feet are a source of pride, somewhat similar to a dwarf’s beard.” He paused, letting that point sink in. Kili looked appalled.

“We insulted him greatly, didn’t we?” Fili asked, and sunk into his seat when Gandalf looked at him.

“Yes, Master Fili, it is indeed incredibly insulting to a hobbit to be told they need shoes. Master Baggins no doubt thought you knew of this when you asked, or he would have enlightened you.” 

The camp was rather quiet for a moment, each dwarf wondering what else there might have been confusion about, because of cultural differences. Then, simultaneously, Fili and Kili stood, and began walking quickly in the direction Bilbo had gone.

“In that case, an apology is in order! We’ll be back soon enough.” They disappeared into the woods as well, while Thorin pressed his hand to his forehead, groaning something under his breath. 

XxX

Bilbo continued to gather firewood, though his anger had by now almost abated, and faded into embarrassment, and a touch of shame. He hadn’t meant to explode at them, when they didn’t seem to mean any actual harm.

But he could easily remember his childhood, when he had gone on his own little adventures around the Shire, away from the settled fields and into the mysterious Old Wood. ‘Thinfoot,’ they’d called him, a common insult for a traveling hobbit. Walking in foreign lands wore away the skin on the feet, or so it was said, and he remembered other relatives claiming he’d been born as such, from his mother wandering in her youth.

“Not sure he’d all hobbit, really. For a Baggins, he has remarkably thin feet,” he’d heard, so many times that he’d started to believe it himself. He’d tried to keep it to himself, how much that hurt, but couldn’t always manage, and even a tiny chink in ones’ armor was enough to be used as a weakness.

He sighed, bending to pick up another branch, as think as his arm and twice the length. Despite whatever the dwarrows thought, he could easily gather wood! Hobbits generally worked with wood in their crafts, and each home had a large stack of wood for when the winter was upon them. Footsteps along the ground came to his ears, quickly but not panicked. He straightened up, but didn’t turn around.

“Mister Baggins?” Fili came up to him, and now he did turn to face him. He looked surprisingly… contrite, and deeply bothered. Beside him, Kili wore a similar face, less tempered and more raw with emotion.

“Look, before you say anything, I would like to apologize for my earlier actions. I realize you both were teasing, and my reaction was uncalled for.” Bilbo cut in quickly, wanting to get his words out quickly. Oddly enough, this only made the pair look even more bothered, as though that was just what they didn’t want to hear.

“No, it is us who ought to apologize. We did not realize… Gandalf explained your lack of shoes, and the importance they have. We did not know, or we would not have said such things,” Fili said slowly at first, gaining speed as he spoke. Bilbo frowned, a touch confused.

“Mister Boggins, please believe that we would never have said such terrible things if we had known! I am no stranger to such insult, and would not wish it on another.” Kili spoke empathetically, and rubbed his chin slowly, without seeming to notice. 

“Master Fili, Master Kili, please, don’t worry about it.” He smiled a bit awkwardly, but continued.

“I admit I was rather insulted, but you didn’t know of it, so I see no reason to worry about it. Perhaps, in the future, I ought to ask before I assume you know about the differences between our cultures. Now, I do believe we have lingered here long enough. Shall we get back to camp? I daresay I have gathered more wood than we will need for the evening.” He gestured his armload of wood to the two, who still looked flummoxed, as though his forgiveness wasn’t what they had expected from this conversation.

“I believe this is one of those cultural differences you spoke of,” Fili noted, as they fell into step with him.

“How so?”

“Well,” Kili grinned at him from his other side, “an apology in dwarvish culture is usually accompanied with a boon from the one that was wrong. As a sign of remorse, of course.” Bilbo shook his head.

“I won’t ask one of either of you. As I said, this was a misunderstanding, not something worth worrying over.” They reached camp, and found that all eleven dwarrows, as well as a Wizard, were watching them. Gandalf looked pleased, and the others a mix of mildly apologetic and confused. A few, he noted, were looking at his feet, and he wiggled his toes a bit in bashfulness. 

“My thanks, Mister Baggins, for the firewood. It seems we should trust you a touch more, though I would remind you that even in the relative peace of the Shire, one should keep an eye out. We have gone in groups for such tasks for a reason.” Thorin spoke through the slightly awkward silence. Surprised, Bilbo only nodded, and set his pile alongside the already dwindling firewood. He had been correct; it was more than they would need for the evening, unless there was an unexpected need for flammable things tonight. Bofur thanked him quietly.

“My own apologies for my earlier comments.” Bilbo smiled.

“They are not needed. I am told it was out of misunderstanding, not malice.” He received a smile in return, and a bowl of stew in return. He settled back into his seat on the log, resettling his pack against his leg.

Two bodies settled heavily on either side, and he looked up in surprise to find both Fili and Kili seated next to him, each with their own bowl and a grin. He smiled in return, and tucked in. Perhaps this would not be as bad as he thought.


	2. Chapter 2

It was already late in the day when they made camp. Bofur shook his hand in annoyance, the white bandage standing out against his dark skin. It had only been a fox, hardly worth the injury he’d gotten for chasing it away from their packs the night before. 

“Something wrong, Master Bofur?” He glanced up, to where Bilbo stood, peering at him. He smiled, hoping for reassuring. It wouldn’t do for their Company to be worried, especially over such a little thing!

“Just a cut, Master Baggins. It’ll heal in a day or so.” He showed the hand in question, which Bilbo eyed and nodded. He’d been asleep when the ‘attack’ had occurred, but it wasn’t that hard to find out someone had been injured, with the ruckus Thorin had raised. It was a trait of a good leader, that he took even the smallest injuries so seriously.

“Of course, of course. Well, until then, if you need assistance in anything, do feel free to ask. I know first hand how tricky some tasks can be with only one arm!” He grinned, good naturedly, and they made to break camp.

However, as he went to unpack, Bofur found that there were, indeed, several things he was having trouble with. He managed to get his horse unsaddled and with the others, but it was a long process, and there was no chance of being able to help cook and risk getting something into the bandages.

He sat away from the edge of the fire instead, watching, and running his good hand over his hair, under the hat. It could easily do with being re-braided, but with one hand at his disposal, the task would be nearly impossible. He moved his hands away, but every few minutes, they wound up back under the hat, feeling the uneven rows and loose hairs. It was like a bruise, he couldn’t stop irritating it.

“Master Bofur? Are you sure you are alright?” Bilbo was standing in front of him, setting down firewood. He’d started collecting after the issue with the shoes, and thus far nobody had said a word. 

“I’m fine, Master Baggins. Just thinking I would like to redo my hair, before it gets to be such a mess I’d have to cut it.” He shuddered at the thought. One’s hair was the pride of a dwarf. 

“Ah…” Bilbo sat down next to him, a touch awkwardly. It was apparent he was thinking of something, but hesitating.

“I could do them, if you wish?” Bofur froze, startled.

Braiding another’s hair was a family thing, or… a courtship ceremony. Did Bilbo…? 

No, it was doubtful he had any idea what he’d just insinuated. He was offering as a friend, surely.

“Well… braids are a rather personal bit, Master Baggins.” he began awkwardly, wishing to explain without embarrassing either of them, and saw the dawning look on Bilbo’s face.

“Oh! Oh, I see! Please, do not be offended by my offer, then, I do not mean to insult, or-” Bofur waved his hands, stopping the babble.

“Relax, relax! I know you meant nothing by it but friendliness, Master Baggins! Do not fret.” His spare hand, he realized, was winding its’ way into the mess again, and Bilbo had noticed. 

“Though… it really could use it, and it seems my relatives are busy at the moment. Master Baggins, would you mind?” Bilbo shifted awkwardly in his seat.

“Well, I did do my little cousins hair before. If you don’t mind it being a bit messy, and if it won’t cause any trouble…” 

“No trouble. It really is a mess, I’d hate for it to get worse while my hand is sliced up.” He removed his hat to show the mess. Travel and the rain were not aiding his hair at all. Bilbo eyed his head and winced. He moved closer on the log.

“That is a right mess! I couldn’t very well leave a member of our Company in such a state. If you turn to the side, I can reach and still be in the light of the fire.” Bofur grinned again, and turned, partially away from the hobbit. Across camp, the other members of the Company were paying no attention, gathered around their own packs. He could see Dori, Nori and Ori working at each others hair. Behind him, Bilbo spoke up, his hands barely brushing Bofur’s head.

“I think I can see the old braids, under the snarls and loose strands. Let me know if there are any I miss, please.” With that, he began redoing the hair. 

For all the mess, Bilbo was rather gentle, and managed to avoid pulling too hard even in the biggest knots. Bofur relaxed to the feeling of hands in his hair, before the lack of conversation caught his attention. He opened his eyes, which he hadn’t realized he had closed, to look back at the others.

Almost every member of the Company was watching Bilbo work at his hair, and even in the dying light he could see their shocked faces. Thorin, though, looked furious. Likely thought their supposed engagement was a distraction from the quest. Bofur lifted his injured hand, hoping the message would get across. 

The Ri brothers, who had looked the least confused to begin with, nodded almost simultaneously and turned back to each other. Nori was whispering quietly to the Ori now, as he finished off Dori’s elaborate style. Balin and Dwalin hadn’t looked up to begin with. 

Thorin’s face cleared, and he nodded, with a few quick gestures that roughly translated to ‘giving aid, my apologies.’ Fili seemed to see the signal, and whispered to Kili. For a moment, Bofur hoped, for a moment, that there would be no huge event over his hair.

“Ahem,” a voice spoke up from slightly behind him. Bilbo’s hands stilled, and Bofur turned to see Oin a few feet away. He bit back the urge to groan. 

“My congradulations, and hopes for a happy marriage.” Without waiting, he walked back to where Gloin was sitting, on the other side of the fire. 

“Master Bofur? Did he mean… what did he mean, exactly?” As he spoke, Bilbo went back to the braids, though Bofur could tell they were nearly finished.

“Braiding anothers hair is personal, as I said. Usually between family, or… engaged couples, as a courting ceremony.” For a moment, he was silent, and Bofur wondered if he should have cleared up exactly what the others would think. Then he felt a light tug on one of his braids, and a laugh.

“That’s done. You ought to have told me you were proposing, I would have used ribbons. Hobbit tradition, for a wedding.” He sat next to him again, and Bofur turned to look at him. Instead of being angry, he looked incredibly amused, which was a relief. Out of the corner of his eye, Bofur could see Gloin, Oin and Thorin speaking. Oin was turning red. Bofur hoped he would be alright. 

“You’ll have to tell me about dwarfish courting some time, or else I fear I may end up being wed to half the Company by the end of this!”

“I imagine our traditions are very different, yes.” Bombur took this moment to walk up, bowls in hand.

“Should I be offering my permission, brother?” Bofur laughed, taking one bowl awkwardly, while Bilbo shook his head, chuckling quietly.

“I’m going to be the butt of many jokes for the next few weeks, I can sense it.” 

As it turned out, he was correct, though Oin was heavier teased for not noticing the others signaling or even speaking frantically to call him back from the false couple. Even his extremely poor hearing wasn’t enough of an excuse for Fili and Kili. He was wrong, though, in his earlier comment that the braids would be messy. If he hadn’t known better, even Bofur would have thought another dwarf had done them.

(They may have caused an almost serious proposal for courtship from Bifur. Thankfully, Bilbo couldn’t understand.)


	3. Chapter 3

“Achoo!” Bilbo rubbed at his nose in annoyance. It ha been stuffed up for a few days now, and no amount of blowing it would clear it. He rubbed at it with the cloth Bofur had thrown at him back in Hobbiton, wiping away the snot again. He almost wished it was still raining; it would be easier to clean his face that way.

“Master Baggins? Are you well?” Bofur looked back at him, worry on his face. Bilbo waved him off.

“Just a bit of a cold. It’ll clear up soon enough. Don’t worry about it, Master Bofur. And you can call me Bilbo, you know.” Bofur didn’t look convinced, but he nodded.

“Of course, Bilbo.” He turned back to the front, and spoke quietly to Bifur, who had also looked back. He’d been considerably warmer in the last few days, after the braid incident. Not that he hadn’t been friendly before! Bilbo had just noticed that he seemed to be more interested in talking to Bilbo. 

Or, as well as they could. Bifur could understand Westron, though he couldn’t speak it, and Bilbo was picking up the hand signals to allow for some communication. Bifur was surprisingly patient when Bilbo didn’t comprehend his meaning. 

He’d wanted to ask about the axe, but refrained. It wasn’t his business, after all. Bilbo had heard some of the others talking about the battle at Moria, before the dwarrows had settled in the Blue Mountains. Beyond that, he didn’t think he wanted to know.

The group made camp, in a rocky out cropping surrounded by tall, old growth trees. In the gathering dark, Bilbo wandered to them, sat in the dirt between a few of the largest roots, almost as wide around as he was. He buried his feet in the soil, feeling the spirit of the tree, permeated through the ground from the years it had grown here, undisturbed by anyone through that time.

It was calmer here, than in the farm lands of Men they had passed, or the rocky hills. Trees were peaceful, which was why Elves were so fond of them. Being near ones so old could lend a person rest, if they wished it, though they tended to be a bit mellow afterwards. It would help clear up his growing cold, however, so Bilbo relaxed under the tall branches, staring at the darkening sky that peeked through.

“Master Baggins?” Bilbo fell backwards against the tree in surprise. He hadn’t even heard someone approach! He looked up wildly, noting that the glow under his skin already fading away. Nori, who stood a good several feet away, was looking at him in confusion and a bit of shock.

“Ah, Master Nori. I- I didn’t hear you come up.” He’d heard some things about Nori, specifically his less than legal occupation. He’d wondered why they had needed a burglar, when he had heard Dwalin speaking of it. Now, he was just as puzzled.

“Master Baggins, what was that?” Nori walked forward a touch, but not close enough to touch any of the trees and roots. A few were still glowing, like saplings from the Shire, that had not been touched yet.

“Um… well, a form of earth connection. From Yavanna, who made us. We feed the earth, and it feeds us, a trade of different energies. This place,” he gestured around them, “has never had that, Hobbits haven’t traveled out of the Shire in a long time, so…” he trailed off awkwardly, unsure if this was something he should be talking about. Hobbits were rather secretive of how they were so well connected with the earth and the Green Lady, but it wasn’t something that he couldn’t talk about. Hobbits, in general, didn’t talk to outsiders because they didn’t meet them. He shifted awkwardly, and rubbed at his nose again. It was far less swollen than before.

“We thought you had come out here and keeled over. I do not know about hobbits, but dwarrows don’t get sick until they are very sick. Instead, I came to find you… feeding trees?” Bilbo blinked at him.

“Well, yes… wait, you all thought I had died out here? From a stuffed up nose?” Nori shrugged, unbothered by this admission. Bilbo wondered, if that was true, why nobody had forced him to see Oin, who as a healer would have had some medicine. Presumably.

“As I said, dwarrows don’t often get sick. Injured, certainly, but we were made tough as stone, and hard to break. How does this tree thing work? Is it Elvish magic?” Unlike the other dwarrows, he didn’t sound overly bothered by the idea, merely curious. Bilbo shifted again, before standing. He walked over to Nori, and stood beside him, gesturing at the fading light of the trees.

“Trees are peaceful, and slow. Even the Ents are like this, though they are more mobile than their charges. For those of us who are close to the earth, it is fairly easy to call on that nature for some rest. It has the added benefit of clearing up illness that only time will take away. The trees, meanwhile, get a burst of quicker life, from whoever is sitting underneath it. These will grow marginally faster for a few months, and with less need of food. It isn’t as common in the Shire as the Elven woods, but any hobbit could tell you this.” Nori looked flummoxed, which worried Bilbo.

“Please keep this to yourself, Master Nori. I do not think it will be as effective on dwarrows, as you are closer to stone than earth, and I do not wish to be questioned extensively. At least for now.” He caught Nori’s eye, trying to tell what he could not say out loud; this was a Hobbit art, something he should likely not be telling, and to use it, even in the aid of another, was rather risky. If the other dwarrows knew and were depending on the trees for some form of healing, there could be unseen repercussions. Trees were not always good, nor willing to lend aid.

Nori seemed to understand, or at least realized that there were some secrets that should be kept. Again, Bilbo wondered if it was to do with his previous occupation, but said nothing. In any case, Nori nodded.

“We’d best get to camp, Master Baggins, or they really will think you have succumbed to some unknown Hobbit illness.” Bilbo chuckled, and together they walked back to camp.

Behind them, the old trees began to bloom, as they had not for many years that they had lay dying. Men traveling past in the coming months would stop, and wonder, and whispers of a nameless wizard would begin to spread.

Gandalf found this hilarious when he found out.


	4. Chapter 4

“Did you notice, Master Baggins, that you walk rather oddly?” 

“I beg your pardon?” Bilbo looked up in confusion from his pack. When the ponies had bolted, they had been forced to continue on foot. He rather suspected that the Company had expected him to kick up a fuss, or slow them down.

“Your foot prints, look here. You only seem to walk on the balls of your feet. I cannot find a heel mark at all.” Balin looked puzzled by it, and indeed, as he spoke, Dwalin came to peer at the prints in the road dust. He frowned, but did not speak. Bilbo tilted his head to the side, glancing down at the ground as well.

“No, I suppose not. We are trying to be quiet, are we not?” He rather doubted it, considering the Company. None of them, save Nori, seemed to know what quiet meant. Even Dwalin was loud, when he was walking, and the few times he bothered to speak.

“Of course. Is this how Hobbits sneak about? Gandalf mentioned that Hobbits were particularly sneaky when they wished to.” Balin looked, as he often did, as though he was filing away whatever Bilbo was going to say into some internal appendix.

“Part of it. Our feet are rather different, which is helpful. Hobbits are not fighters, typically.” He heard someone behind him snort in laughter, and another voice mutter “Obviously,” under its breath. He ignored it, though he noted that is sounded suspiciously like Thorin.

“So we need to be able to move without detection, in multiple areas. Forest, fields, anywhere that we need to hide. I expect that it the reason Gandalf chose a Hobbit, instead of someone more used to travel.” Another bit of laughter, louder than the last. Despite everything, especially the trolls of only a few nights ago, the Company regarded him rather useless.

“Would you like to prove that?” Dwalin looked up, an interested look on his face. He likely was some kind of tracker, if what he had heard correctly from fireside a few weeks ago was correct. If so, Bilbo supposed he would love a tracking game.

“Of course. How would you like me to ‘prove it’?” Dwalin smiled, just a bit, while the others began to watch in interest. 

“A game? You hide, and I’ll try and find you. If you can get back to camp without being found, you win. I find you, I win. Sound fair?” Bilbo could see that no-one thought he could win this game, as he looked around camp. Excluding Gandalf, who smiled softly. Nori, surprisingly, was speaking quietly to Oin, and coins were exchanging hands. He wondered what the bet was.

“Deal.” He didn’t bother waiting for a signal or some kind of time count. He simply stripped out of his cloak, borrowed from Bofur. Once it was set it aside, he walked backwards into the woods, slipping into the shadows. Once the light of the fire faded from sight, he turned, surveying the area. 

The soil was soft, from recent rain. It would hold foot prints easily, so he hopped from root to root instead, leaping lightly around the large trunks. He could hear foot steps behind him, tromping boots surprisingly quiet despite the dwarf that wore them. Dwalin was good, it seemed. 

Bilbo was better.

Quickly, he began twisting to the side, under low reaching branches that the taller dwarf would struggle to get through without making a lot of noise. Once through, he doubled back around, looping past where Dwalin was walking, head bent low to listen, or perhaps smell. Regardless, he made it past him, and was near camp when he paused, balancing near an elm.

If he got back so soon, he would win, easily. But that was no fun. He wanted to prove he could sneak, as well as any Hobbit. He wanted proof that he could do this, without detection. He would need something, some kind of proof.

The last time he had tried to steal from anyone, he’d been used as a tissue. He’d prefer for that not to happen. And it was entirely likely that Dwalin would swing first, if he was startled.

With his axe.

Instead, Bilbo turned to the elm, and gripped a low branch, swinging up easily into the foliage. He pulled himself higher, and walked along the branch towards where it met with another. Continuing this way, he reached camp, standing almost directly over the camp, looking down at the sparking fire and smoke.

Carefully, he cut off one of the buttons of his coat, and dropped it at the same time as a log resettled, covering the soft plink the button made as it landed on his own pack. Smiling, he backed away, moving towards the other side of the camp, and away, towards the rocky outcropping that marked their passage towards the mountains. The trees gave him easy access to the tops of the tall rocks, and he stepped lightly onto the rough rock.

From here, the sun was still visible, sinking below the tree line behind them. The Shire lay that way, as did the Old Forest and beyond, the Blue Mountains. He picked up a loose piece from the top, tucking it in his pocket and continuing away from camp, along the rocks now. The rocks melded into the hillside after a few hundred feet. It looked like they had fallen from higher up at some point, tumbled down the hill and landed here. 

He was too far away to hear Dwalin at this point, and doubled back again, staying in the trees. He found him near where he’d turned the first time, the underbrush obviously pulled apart in a search. Dwalin clearly thought he was going to hide for a good amount of time and was searching for a hiding spot. Bilbo watched him for a few minutes, before noticing Dwalin’s hood was laying open behind his head. 

He would only get one shot, but that should be all he needed. Carefully, he cut another button, and moved closer. He held his breath when Dwalin looked up, before moving again. 

Before he could change his mind, he tossed the button, moving quickly backwards towards the trunk of the tree he stood on, hiding in the shadows. The button shone in the air, twirling, before landing…

Right in the hood of the cloak, a moment before Dwalin turned, eyes searching for something. Bilbo must have made a noise when it landed, perhaps a sigh of relief. 

He didn’t move as Dwalin looked, and for a moment he thought he was caught. But he turned again, scrutinizing another area. Bilbo breathed quietly, and waited.

Eventually, Dwaling went back to searching, and he escaped along the branches further away from camp, wondering at his next move.

He could go to camp now. It had been a good long time, surely he had made his point by now. But instead, he continued along his path for a few minutes, and dropped to the ground. 

There was a creek this way, feeding the trees and making the ground subtly softer under his feet. The burbling sounds became clearer as he neared it, and he smiled at the sound. There were some things that were familiar, at least.

He refilled his flask, such a normal thing to him at this point that he hadn’t noticed it was still at his hip, and sat on the edge, watching the water. 

There were shallow stones across the water, barely submerged in the water. He eyed them warily. Hobbits, in general, didn’t care for running water. But Dwalin would assume that he would avoid the creek, as having wet feet would leave easier marks on the ground, so with a sigh he made his way towards the water, and jumped quickly onto the first stone.

Skipping along, he reached the other side before he could think about slipping and falling into the water. The other side had a long stretch of ting pebbles reaching away from the banks, and he winced at the prints the water left. He shook his head, scooped up a stone and put it with the others, and moved on, into the trees again before he could be traced. 

The sun was entirely set now, and the only light came from the half moon above them and the twinkling stars. He moved on, following the banks hidden in the tree line. He had not seen Dwalin yet along the creek, and wasn’t sure if that was good or not. It was possible he was waiting by the camp as an ambush. Or he was watching as well, from the other bank, waiting for a good time to capture him. 

He slipped further into the trees, and tried to orientate himself. The creek passed along the far side of the rocks he had been on earlier, and he figured he could cross again there, before approaching the camp again from the outcropping. Plan decided, he hurried along, worried that he would find some enemy while moving alone in the woods. 

The water got deeper as he followed it, and he worried that it would be difficult to cross again. There were worse things than drowning, he was sure, but he didn’t know what. He eyed the waters warily again, now realizing that this silly bet could be more dangerous than any of them had thought at the time. He should have tried to return before the sun set entirely.

There was a log, trapped between several large rocks tumbled into the water, and he thanked every god he could think of that it did not look rotted or loose. He moved onto the wood, feeling the solid surface beneath his feet.

He moved along it carefully, feeling with his toes before trusting his weight. In this way, he almost made it across before something further upriver caused a large wave to drench him. As the water hit, his feet slipped, and he tumbled into the water with a splash. 

The water was freezing, and he panicked, flailing for a handhold, no longer worried about being found, only getting out of the water. His hand found something, a root or branch, and he took hold, twisting to pull himself up with both arms. Gasping, he yanked, and felt himself slip, before getting a better hold and moving again out of the water.

He rolled away from the shore, shaking in either fear or cold. He wanted to stay there, and breathe, but he could not stay. He was not sure, anymore, who he was avoiding. Dwalin or the strange fear of what was hiding in the dark. Paranoia was setting in, in the wild where he had no allies nearby and only a weapon he had never used. The beautiful elven sword with no name and no history, which they found in the troll hoard not long ago.

There was nobody nearby, and it seemed that his near miss had gone unnoticed. He pulled himself up, shivering, and looked around. It appeared that, by some luck, he had managed to land on the side he needed. 

He started to move again, trying to keep his feet silent. With the way he was shaking it was difficult, but the first think a Hobbit ever learns when they can walk is how to walk without sound. He moved up to the roots again, knowing that the wet steps would not be as easy to see now, and if Dwalin had not heard the water splashing he was either at camp planning an ambush or further away. Bilbo was betting on the ambush, personally, and climbed into the trees, hoping to spot where Dwalin had set up before he saw Bilbo.

The fire looked inviting and warm, and there was food cooking that smelled delicious. However, to go down without knowing where Dwalin was would be dangerous. It was likely that he would notice him before Bilbo saw him, leaving the options of walking in blind or trying to fall straight into camp boundaries.

He climbed down, stopping at the lowest branch, and peered around again. There was no sign of anyone here, except Ori drawing below the tree, on the outskirts of the fire. He was using some spell of Gandalf’s, it seemed, to give him light to sketch.

Bilbo dropped behind him, and braced himself for the tackle to the ground that came from Dwalin, hiding in the bushes behind the tree.

“It was a good fight laddie, but I believe I- you’re soaked!” Dwalin stood, and yanked Bilbo up with him.

“Yes, I uh- took a tumble into the creek. Thought you had heard it, to be honest.” He was still shivering a bit, and Ori moved forward in worry.

“You ought to be more careful, Master Baggins! Oh, that tackle didn’t seem necessary, Mister Dwalin…” he trailed off, looking at Dwalin in worry, but the pinched brow seemed to be in worry, not annoyance.

Together, they dragged Bilbo back into camp, where the others jumped up in worry. Within moments, Bilbo was out of his soaked clothes, wrapped in his cloak, and had Thorin glowering at him.

“There was no need to take this game so far, Master Baggins. One would think you were not taking this quest seriously.” Bilbo glowered at him for a moment, surprised at his own daring, before shivering again and looking away, at Gandalf. He met his eyes, and saw anxiety, and a bit of amusement.

“Such an effort, Bilbo, and you have nothing to show for it?” The others looked at Gandalf in confusion.

“What do you mean, Gandalf?” Oin finally asked. Bilbo took this moment to turn to Bofur.

“Could you get my sewing kit from my pack? It seems I misplaced a button or two, and I’d like to reattach them before I sleep.” Bofur blinked at him, before moving to collect the kit. He gave a sound of surprise.

“I believe I found it, Bilbo! How did this button get here?” He held it up to the light for the rest of the Company to see. Dwalin looked at Bilbo with renewed interest.

“You are a sneaky Hobbit indeed. How did you manage to leave that there?” Bilbo pointed towards the trees, and the large over hanging branches that hung over the camp.

“There were more places than the dirt to travel on. May I ask you to look in your hood?” Dwalin’s eyes widened, and with every member watching him carefully he reached back.

“Why, I don’t believe it!” He held up the other missing button, and for a moment, all was silent.

“That would make you the winner, Master Baggins. As much as I don’t like to admit defeat, it appears you both made it to camp and bested me in tracking.” Fili and Kili looked beside themselves in glee. 

“What else did you manage?” Balin looked intrigued at who had beaten his brother.

“I reached the creek, the upper edges of the rock outcropping behind you, and I believe we are being followed. Something knocked me loose while I was crossing the creek, and I believe it was something, or someone, going through further still upstream.” His words startled Thorin, who glanced in the direction of the creek in worry. 

“We will have two watchmen tonight, and we move first light. I do not wish to be trapped here, there are too few places to retreat to if we are outnumbered.” He ordered, and there was a flurry of movement to set up sleeping arrangements. Bilbo was handed a bowl of stew, his sewing and the buttons moved back to his things. As they settled again, it was Thorin who sat near Bilbo.

He didn’t speak until he had finished eating and had set the bowl aside.

“How is it you beat the best tracker of Erebor and the Blue Mountains?” Bilbo glanced back at him, and saw only interest, instead of the open condescension he had seen up to this point.

“Hobbits are not taught to walk. We are taught to walk without sound or evidence. No footprints if there is any way to avoid it, no sound at all. There has always been a chance that the Shire would be attacked, and we cannot fight. It isn’t our nature, and it is not something we have ever learned. So, we are taught to run, to be able to escape and retreat. That’s all. I was able to avoid Dwalin because we are all taught to avoid exactly what he has learned to do.” Thorin stared at him, for a long time. Bilbo didn’t look, and instead watched Nori take a small sum of coins from Oin. He smiled, just a bit.

“I see.” He walked away. Bilbo sat there, warming himself, and wondered exactly what was so strange about Hobbits. Small creatures with little means of protecting themselves would find ways of escaping their predators.

“I believe, Bilbo, that they are surprised that you are taught to see them as an enemy.” Gandalf settled next to him.

“Hobbits. Halflings. Shire folk. We are the young cousins of elves and Ents, but we are defenseless. Anyone that carries a weapon is a threat, surely they must see that?” Gandalf smiled sadly at him.

“Nobody wants to hear that they are the monsters in someone else’s stories, Bilbo. I imagine Master Oakenshield is merely startled to realize that he is exactly that, to you. To them, you are a member of the Company, and whatever else they think of you, that makes you one of them. He did not want to think that someone he is close to fears him.” Bilbo shook his head.

“I do not. You know that. He,” Bilbo gestured to where Thorin had set up first watch with Balin, “ought to know that as well. You do not trust a monster with your life.” Bilbo stood, stretched, and walked to his own things. Someone, perhaps Fili and Kili, had already laid them out. 

He was asleep within moments.

XxX

Thorin watched, long past when he lay down, the still form of their Burglar, who had proved his skills only a few hours before. Watching him be half carried into the camp, shivering and dripping wet, had been an interesting struggle between fear, confusion, and oddly enough, pride. Few would have made it a few minutes before Dwalin caught them.

Then the buttons were found, and Bilbo explained what he had done. He had been impressed.

Now, he felt shame, or something close to it, for being one of the races of Middle Earth that had caused Hobbits to sharpen their skills in such a way. Balin had shared his look, when Bilbo explained, and he thought of their trek, years ago, to the Blue Mountains. They had gone through the Shire, and looking back, had likely been a terrifying sight to any Hobbit they passed. Worn from the road and starved thin, they had been a ragged, rough bunch, quick to startle. Peaceful folk had likely taken one look and thought their worst fears were true, that they were being attacked.

He thought of the towns without people, the houses with no lights on, that they had walked by, and felt sick. That was no way to behave around folk who value food and comfort over any kind of riches or glory.

He decided, then and there, that he would be better to the Shire than he predecessors. The Shire, and all who hailed from it. Starting with Bilbo Baggins, resident Burglar.


	5. Chapter 5

They were all sitting quietly around the campfire when Balin began his tale. It was an old one, a retelling of the creation of the dwarves and their near destruction. Bilbo listened with rapt attention, fascinated once again with how the words flowed from Balin’s mouth, the images he could bring to one’s mind by mere speech. He had noticed it when Balin had spoken of the battle of Moria. Perhaps he had been an orator, back in Erebor? A council man would have to be good at speaking, he supposed.

After a few minutes of silence, however, Nori began another tale.

“This one took place not long after my 90th birthday. I was sneaking home, dead of night it was, and Dori waiting up, when I heard this noise. A fight, I thought, probably spilling out from a pub somewhere near the road. Well, I couldn’t just leave something like that without looking into it, could I?

“As soon as I reached the fight I found such a thick knot of Men and Dwarrows fighting that I could scarcely tell what had caused it. There were no pubs, or even shops nearby. The whole street was filled with houses, and plenty had wives leaning out to throw things or jumping into the fray to beat some sense into those fools.

“I didn’t want to get in there, so I watched. Finally some lass, barely in her sixties I’d reckon, threw a full chamber pot in the center. The smell was so foul, I swear the Orcs of Moria would be a field of flowers by comparison!

“As it turned out, she was the reason for the fight in the first place! A suitor had come calling late, and her brother found him. Things led to blows, fell into the street, and by the time I was around there were near abouts fifty people in that brawl, and plenty had never met the lass nor the lad in their lives!” The others were laughing at this point, though Bilbo had trouble deciphering exactly why a fight would be so funny, nor what trouble a suitor should face for visiting late. Was it without the family’s knowledge, that she was being courted?

It may simply be a dwarf thing, he decided, listening as Dwalin began a tale as well. 

As the night wore on, it became obvious to Bilbo that everyone was planning on telling some type of story that night. Old legends, personal stories, every dwarf had a tale to tell, discluding Thorin, who sat with Gandalf further off, poring over the map.

He sat back a bit, not wishing to draw attention to himself. He’d never been the best at telling stories. Children’s tales, certainly, he could keep a group of fauntlings entertained for hours, but most adults found his speaking too childish, and he tended to stutter and babble when nervous. It was apparent to him that the dwarrows were exceedingly good at this game of story telling, which made him all the more unnerved by the prospect of comparing tales.

“Master Baggins! Surely you have a story as well?” Kili looked at him expectantly. Drat!

“Oh, no I- I’ve never been good at story telling.” He stammered, of course he did, but now most of the others were looking at him.

“Nonsense! Besides, we have heard most of these; surely you have a story none of us have heard before?” Bofur offered, and he sounded hopeful. Bilbo recalled that Gandalf had mentioned dwarrows having a deep love of oral tales. He was more of a writer, personally.

“Well…” He could try, could he not? At the very least it would prove his lack of skill, and they would leave him alone in future.

“This one is popular back home, more gossip than anything else. .

“Now, Belladonna was a Took, which to Hobbits means a very un-Hobbitish Hobbit. Adventurous, the lot of them, with barely a lick of common sense. And my mother was as Tookish as they came, disappeared for weeks on end wandering about the Shire and even to Rivendell or the foot of the Blue Mountains! Granddaughter of the Old Took himself, and took after his wife in looks. They said there were few that rivaled her. Only her itchy feet, as it were, kept away suitors.

“Bungo was a Baggins, and they couldn’t be more different if they tried! Proper and well-to-do, one could know everything about a Baggins without speaking to the Hobbit at all. Never do anything unexpected. Except for the Sackville-Bagginses, but we like to ignore them.

“Now, it was the height of summer one year, when Bungo was taking a walk around Hobbiton. He was alone, enjoying the early morning, when he saw someone running out of the fields. It was Belladonna, covered in mud and with twigs in her hair. Bungo said she was still the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. 

“He offered her a hand, as she had quite collapsed on the ground in front of him, which she took. She held something behind her back.

“Twas a large bouquet, of roses so red they could have been stained in blood. The only thing redder, I’m told, was the blush that came with them, though the story isn’t clear as to whose it was.

“Belladonna had apparently traveled clear to Rivendell for roses, as they were still in bloom. They had managed a spell to keep them fresh until she reached home again, but she had run the way anyway, in fear they would not last. She hoped, of course, to present them as a first courting gift to Bungo.

“It caused quite a scandal, when it came out that they were courting. She was Took, prone to wandering, and beginning a courtship herself? Which made it all the more surprising that Bungo accepted, of course. He had a crown of pink lilacs within a day, made of silk. It’s known as one of the biggest romances to this day in the Shire.” He ended awkwardly, unwilling to continue the tale of how he had been born just a month too early to have been conceived inside wedlock, or how his father had labored to build Bag End for his mother so they could live in a place entirely made for them. Or how Belladonna had brought him on small trips around the Shire, or explored the Old Forest together looking for pixies.

“Why would it matter that she had begun the courtship?” Ori asked, and Bilbo looked up to see confusion on his face. As with many of the others.

“Oh! She was younger, see. By quite a bit. Proper courtship would have been Bungo going to her. She didn’t much care about propriety, obviously, but among proper Hobbits it was quite outrageous.” He smiled softly, remembering being told this story by a blushing Bungo, who even in his later years was still worried about being a proper Hobbit.

“Are you related to them, Mister Bilbo? You share a last name, at any rate.” Balin looked curious. Bilbo thought back a moment. Had he not mentioned that?

“Bungo and Belladonna are my parents, actually. My father build Bag End for my mother as a wedding gift, even.” Kili looked up, surprised and excited.

“Your parents! You should have said that first! Is that why you came along? Your mother?” Bilbo hunched his shoulders a bit, shy at the personal questions. 

“I suppose. I was more, well, adventurous as a fauntling, to be honest. When I grew older, I… I did not have such an urge to travel as before. You lot appearing at my door rather cured me of that.

“My mother loved to tell stories of her travels, who she had met and how. She was better at speaking than I ever was. Better at children’s stories, to be honest.” None of them said anything to that, and Bilbo hoped that would be the end of it. Dwarrows were rather attached to their story telling, surely they wouldn’t begrudge him stepping out?

“What did the flowers have to do with it?” Balin asked, curious.

“Hobbits court using flowers, mostly. Flowers and food. Different flowers signify different things. Each couple will have a unique bouquet, a combination of both family bouquets. But for a beginning courtship, red roses are traditional. Pink lilacs are a way of accepting. They had to be silk because they weren’t in season. They don’t always have to be fresh flowers. The crown was what she wore to the wedding, one of the few traditions she bothered with.” Was it his imagination, or was Thorin looking at him from where he and Gandalf sat?

“What are yours? The flowers?” Ori asked. Most of the dwarrows were no longer listening, as Bombur had launched into another tale. Bilbo turned to Ori instead.

“Gorse, compass flowers, and maidenhair ferns to offset all the yellow. Gorse was from my father, and compass flowers from my mother.” 

“Does it mean something? You said flowers had meanings, right?” Fili leaned over, peering at him. What was with the curiosity? Well, he supposed dwarrows had different methods of courtship.

“Um, yes. They all do. Mine would be ‘your discreet faithfulness is endearing,’” he said, smiling. “Really an obscene amount of yellow flowers. What my parents were thinking…” But of course, a compass flower was perfect for Belladonna, both in name and meaning. ‘faith.’ Faith in people, in Bungo even when their natures were so different. Bungo using gorse, ‘endearing affection,’ was indicative of how he felt for Belladonna of course.

“It’s rather lovely, anyway. I suppose dwarrows have a much different method of courtship?” All three, for Kili had turned away from the others to peer at him as well, nodded.

“Oh yes! Well, there is still gift giving, but they are rather different. The first would be a gift presented as a courtship gift, made by hand. To accept, one would do the same, a gift made by hand. This continues until a proposal, which is a gift of whatever the other’s craft is.” Ori explained, rubbing at his gloves.

“So, if you were courting a toymaker, you would make a toy. The better it is, the more meaningful, because learning another’s craft is so difficult.” Fili continued.

“What about a dwarf without a specific craft? A soldier, or merchant perhaps?” Kili grinned.

“That’d depend on the dwarf. A soldier could be challenged to a spar. Merchants usually have some kind of craft they specialize in selling, so you could work on that. It just has to mean something to that one dwarf. Could even be some kind of inside joke. Mum proposed to Da by making a pie, because he was such a bad cook he had been banned from the kitchen.” Bilbo laughed, thinking of how horribly Drogo had ruined the bread he had meant for Primula when they had begun their courtship. 

“That sounds lovely, though there are so many farmers in the Shire I couldn’t imagine it catching on!” They sat in silence for a while, listening to Bombur, though Bilbo had lost track of what was going on in the story. Most of the other dwarrows were roaring in laughter. Ori looked thoughtful.

“You mentioned that the flowers do not have to be real, right? They could be cloth?” 

“Yes, and a good deal besides! Carved, embroidered in cloth, made into food of some kind. I believe that there was a pastry chef that proposed with a bunch of flowers made of spun sugar! Otherwise courting would be on hold until spring again.” Ori nodded, and turned once again to the fire as Bombur finished. Bilbo wondered absently, as he lay to go to sleep, what oak leaves and compass flowers would look like together. Camellias would be a nice touch, as well…


	6. Chapter 6

"You know, Bilbo, there’s no reason to be afraid of the ponies. They’re well trained; you won’t be trampled.” Bofur grinned from where he was saddling his own pony at the hobbit, who was engaged in what appeared to be an intense staring contest with Myrtle the pony. She seemed relatively unbothered by this. Bilbo glanced at him, brow furrowed.

“I’m not afraid of her! Well, I was a bit when you lot first dropped me in her saddle, but I was more worried about falling off. No, I just don’t like being off of the ground.” He gestured towards the dirt trail they had been following through the woods for several days now, already trampled with boot marks and hoof prints. Bofur raised a brow, finishing with the last strap on the saddle.

“I understand; we’re of a near height, and being further up isn’t the most comfortable thing in the world.” Bilbo smiled, finally moving to saddle Myrtle up as well. The rest of the Company was meandering this way and that, slowly tidying up their campsite. From what Bilbo had heard, Gandalf was pushing them to go to Rivendell; Thorin was adamantly against doing so. Bilbo personally thought it would be wonderful to see the city.

“Hobbits don’t feel right at all without dirt under our feet. Do you feel something like that, being away from mountains and rocks?” Bofur frowned, brows creasing in thought.

“I suppose so, in a way. Feels like a pull, towards where home is. Most of us here, that’s Erebor. Me, that’d be my kin. Always been a bit of a wanderer, meself.” He shrugged his shoulders, unbothered. From a few yards away, Nori snorted, tying off the last of his saddle bags.

“That would be why our illustrious leader was so very late, Mister Baggins. Can cause a dwarf to get fairly lost, when they’re above ground; feet want to go one way, the map another.” Bilbo felt a laugh rise in his throat, and tried to disguise it as a cough. He didn’t think he was entirely successful, given both Bofur and Nori’s looks.

“I ah, I had wondered. It is a bit hard to get lost in Hobbiton; there’s only one road!” Bofur chuckled; Nori laughed loud and hard, head thrown back in delight. Bilbo didn’t think he had been especially funny, but he smiled anyway. 

“Best not say that to his face; from what I overheard, he was wandering along some goat path or something of the like when a hobbit lass pointed him on his way,” Nori said eventually, eyes glittering in the bright sun. 

“Goat path? Oh, the gardens! Well, I suppose it would be tricky to find my smial from there…” At both of their odd looks, he shrugged helplessly. “Those paths, they’re, ah… all across the hill Bag End is in. Quite plainly, he was in my backyard.” There was a short moment of silence, before both dwarrows broke in peals of mirth, Bofur holding the reins of Minty to keep himself fully upright. She seemed rather affronted, and nipped at his hat in annoyance.

Bilbo could see the others were now watching them, no doubt wondering exactly what the two of them were laughing at. Kili caught his eye, but he only shrugged again, at a loss. 

Well, it was rather amusing, he supposed, that Thorin had been so close and had yet missed them. Nonetheless…

“It isn’t so bad as that, really now!” He managed to look annoyed, instead of joining the pair of them, who had now made it to the ground.

“It is!” Nori gasped out, almost crying. It was all he managed to say for a few more moments, as more of the other dwarrows came closer.

“What’s going on? Nori?” Dori looked as though he was a moment away from lecturing his brother about… something. His brows were drawn and teeth clenched.

“He should have been there so much faster than the rest of us! We thought he had been caught in another day of negotiations, or been held up by weather. Now you say he was not only lost, but,” Bofur wheezed, before gathering his breath, “but he was actually on top of your house?” Bilbo blinked, and when most of the Company peered at him, he held up his hands in a gesture of defeat.

“I suppose so, yes…” The rest of the Company was quickly lost to the wave of hilarity that gripped Bofur and Nori. By the time Thorin and Gandalf, who had again been arguing about the route, came upon them, most were lying on the ground panting, their ponies nosing at them curiously, with Bilbo standing helplessly around them, looking bewildered.

“What in Durin’s name…?” He didn’t finish his question, as his arrival seemed to cause a whole new wave of laughter, and those few that had almost managed to stand again fell hard against the soil. Frowning, Thorin looked to Bilbo, who threw up his hands in exasperation.

“I don’t know what’s come over the lot of them! Nori had just said you had some sort of pull towards Erebor that makes it difficult to navigate in the Shire, and then this happened!” 

“Nori mentioned what?” Most dwarrows felt the pull, though not always towards their physical home; some found it towards their smithy, or family members. And yes, at least to himself he would admit he had troubles above ground. What was so amusing about that?

Their burglar seemed at just as much of a loss as he was, so clearly it was some joke only a dwarf found amusing. Likely at his expense, if he was being honest. 

He ignored them, going to saddle up his own pony. Slowly the Company filled out behind him, and they were off. Gandalf, riding beside Bilbo, managed to get what had been so amusing out of the hobbit after a few minutes of riding, and chuckled to himself as well, though he wasn’t surprised. Bilbo may say there is only one road in Hobbiton, but there were plenty of paths this way and that across various hobbits’ properties, and they weren’t very distinguished from the actual road. Hobbits, he had found, didn’t seem to realize that others couldn’t feel the earth itself telling them where to go. He didn’t bother enlightening the dwarrows, who poked fun at Thorin for a fortnight after the event; they needed some form of entertainment after all, and pleasant moods would be hard to come by when those rain clouds rolled over them.


	7. Chapter 7

Thorin was watching him again, Bilbo noted, as he set up his bed roll. He supposed it was to be expected, considering that he had only a few days ago he had been arguing with three trolls on how to properly cook them. Really, though, he wished that the King could just decide what he wanted to say and say it already! People watching him made him nervous, especially when he didn’t know what they wanted.

He was better with children, really. They liked his far-fetched stories, and if they were staring, it meant he was doing well. Children don’t typically pay attention if they’re no longer interested.

“Master Baggins?” He jumped, turning on his knees to see Thorin standing above him, frowning. Nothing different, then.

“Ah! You startled me. Yes?” Thorin’s frown deepened for a moment, before he abruptly plopped his own bed down near Bilbo’s. He fiddled with it for a moment, not speaking.

“I have been wondering about your life,” he finally said, stiffly. “It has occurred to me that I know little of who you are, and as a member of the Company this is an oversight on my part.” Bilbo was glad that the sum was already setting; he was sure his face was bright red, if the burning was any indication.

“Oh! Well, I haven’t done much, I’m sorry to say. Not proper, for a gentlehobbit to wander about the world, or take up crafts, or apparently do much of anything.” He spat out the last of the words, remembering his Baggins’ relatives not long after the funeral, gossiping about his respectability. His own wandering feet, his desire to pick up crafts and abilities beyond what a normal hobbit would choose. 

He realized he had fallen silent, and that Thorin was still watching him. He smiled, but feared it came out sad, not pleasant.

“I’m what counts for hobbit nobility. In ‘proper’ gentlehobbits, it is unseemly to have a craft or even a real occupation if there is no financial need to do so. My parents left me quite a bit, enough that I can easily go the rest of my days without working.” 

Some days he had been fine with that; he could sit and read, or write his own stories, or sketch things he had only seen in other books and in his own mind. He had taught himself Sindarin, though his pronunciation was likely horrid. He needed his hands and mind busy, on those other days, and had begged farmers to be allowed to help for a day or so, just need a bit of hard work in the mill, or the stone mason, or the carpenters. Those days were the reason he had some of the best tomatoes in the Shire, how he knew to repair Bag End’s extensive wood carvings without aid, and a good host of other talents.

“You have no craft, then?” Thorin sounded bothered, and Bilbo could see why. The dwarrows had had to scatter after Erebor had been taken, work where they could find payment, and from all accounts had barely been scraping by until Thorin had managed to make a proper settlement in the Blue Mountains. Bilbo’s life was blessed in comparison.

“No, I’m afraid not. I can carve wood well enough, had to learn to be able to fix my own home, but I don’t do anything paid. Not most days, anyway. When the local carpenter can’t do something the hobbits of Hobbiton do sometimes come to call.” He didn’t ask payment, but they insisted, leading to him receiving pies and cakes for helping make a door.

Thorin was still frowning at him, but it appeared more puzzled than annoyed. 

“I believe that, once again, Master Baggins, our two species have very different ways of looking at things. Dwarrows are all expected to have a craft of some type.” Bilbo turned to look straight at him, eyes wide in surprise.

“Oh? Even the royal line?” Thorin chuckled, actually chuckled, and Bilbo was left reeling with the small realization that if he ever laughed full-out, Bilbo himself would probably have to swoon. 

He had a lovely laugh.

“Some say that ruling is its’ own craft, but yes, most do. I worked as a blacksmith while we were wandering. My own craft, however, lies in silver.” He fingered one of the beads in his hair absently. Bilbo watched the fire light flicker on his face, and noted that this was one of the first civil conversations they had had.

“What of Fili and Kili? Do they have crafts as well?” Thorin shook his head, releasing the bead.

“Not as of yet, though Fili seems to favor smith work as well. When we have Erebor, and all the resources within her, they will be able to see where their interest lies. But for now, we do what we must.” He fell silent again. Bilbo did as well, thoughtful.

“Is this for the purpose of courtship?” Bilbo asked. Thorin startled, turning to stare at him.

“What?” Bilbo blinked, surprised by the violent reaction.

“Every dwarf having a craft, even the royal line. Is it for courtship? The lads mentioned that the craft of a dwarf plays an important part of courting.” Thorin relaxed again, though Bilbo couldn’t imagine why he had reacted as he had.

“Perhaps in terms of practicality. But most dwarrows feel a calling to a craft, from the Maker, Aüle. It would be an insult to the god to deny his gift of craftsmanship.” Bilbo nodded quickly.

“Ah! Some hobbits have something similar, a deep connection with the plants and growing things of the earth, from the goddess Yavanna. She gives some great understanding of her gifts to the world. It is an insult to her to ignore that.” Thorin smiled, just a small one.

“Perhaps our people are more alike than we realized.”


	8. Chapter 8

Thorin hesitated just beyond the circle of firelight and laughter. He wasn’t usually timid about anything that he needed to do. But that was as a leader, as a king or a brother, when many lives hung in the balance. But as himself he didn’t know how to work with people. Dwalin had told him, several times since they had set out, that he was incompetent as a normal person. 

He walked into the circle, taking a seat next to Balin, who smiled at him before turning back to listen to whatever tale Bofur was telling. Across from Thorin sat Bilbo Baggins, who grinned openly at him for a moment before turning away. His ears seemed a touch red. Had he become sunburned while walking?

The Company was quite a bit more comfortable with each other than at the beginning. It made him glad, especially Dwalin and Nori; he had worried one of them would have killed the other within a week. 

… He was fairly sure they were courting. Or simply sleeping together, but he knew that Dwalin was smoking Nori’s pipe. 

In a way, he was a touch jealous. The brothers ‘Ri were all quite a catch, with solid muscle and lustrous hair and beards. Dwalin was a lucky bastard. 

Thorin rubbed his chin absently, feeling the shorn hair that had once been a fine beard. He had cut it off, not to allow it to grow back until his people were back in their proper home. It was a sign of dishonor among dwarrows, and the more polite ones didn’t look. Dori had trouble looking at him. So did Ori, but he believed that was caused by nervousness, not propriety.

Bilbo didn’t seem to look one way or another, but he was a hobbit. None of them, as far as he could tell, even grew beards. He hadn’t seen Bilbo shave, at any rate, yet there was never a bit of hair on his chin. Plenty on his feet, though.

He glanced around the rest of the fire, lingering on Bombur. He was an incredibly attractive dwarf; rotund and strong, and with such a long beard! His interest didn’t stray past physical, though; if for no other reason than Bombur’s wife being a fearsome lass from Dwalin’s city guard. Still, his gaze was occasionally drawn back to him, admiring. 

The Durin line was an odd one, looks wise. Being taller than most dwarrows, one would think they would end up being rather attractive. However, most of the line had trouble putting on enough weight to have a pleasant form; it seemed to just fall right off.

Thror and Thrain had managed well enough to look good, but Thorin, and now Fili and Kili, seemed cursed to remain rather slim looking dwarrows. Kili had doubly bad luck, having inherited another family propensity for growing a beard late. Thorin had faced similar issues in his youth. He had tried to comfort Kili with this, when he was a touch younger, but the fact that he had cropped his beard didn’t help his case. Thorin was sure it would come through soon, but until then… Enough dwarrows had learned what would happen if they called the younger heir to the throne an elf. The Company had refrained thus far and Thorin hoped that would stay the same.

“Uncle?” He turned, his gaze sliding away from Bombur (thankfully close to Bofur, who was still speaking; hopefully no-one had noticed his lapse), to look at Fili, who sat a few feet away. 

“You were pulling at your beard again,” Fili said quietly, so that only Balin, who was between them, could hear. Thorin scowled, and pulled his hand away from his chin. Dis, in her ‘infinite wisdom’ (he had his own name for it), had told her sons about his nervous habit before they had left, and warned them to ‘distract the moron before he pulls out what’s left of his beard.’ 

“Your mother needs to learn to mind her own business; she’s a bit old to keep up the annoying sister routine,” he told Fili gruffly. By Fili’s expression, he knew that he had likely just managed to sound fond. It was often the case with the lads, though most of the Company couldn’t tell the difference. 

“Why Uncle! Taking away our mother’s only source of entertainment?” Fili gasped, letting his voice raise so that most of the Company was watching them.

“Be a right shame, it would, and then she might set her gaze elsewhere,” Kili noted, looking around the fire at the others.

“Maybe Dwalin, they know each other well enough…” Fili suggested, and the two fell into a routine, firing off reasons for each and every member of the Company.

“Or Ori, cause then she could braid his hair!” Ori blushed.

“Or Bifur, they could tell embarrassing stories about their brothers!” Bifur nodded at them both, though whether it was in amusement or agreement was unclear.

“Or Master Baggins! She could just lift him straight up and fuss as she pleased!” Kili crowed, pointing at the surprised hobbit, who blinked at the two of them, obviously bewildered. He glanced at Thorin, who could only shake his head at the two of them. 

“Who are you talking about?” He asked, and quickly leaned backwards on his seat by the fire as the other dwarrows turned to stare at him in surprise. Fili quickly started.

“Our lovely mother, haven’t you heard of her?” Kili was nodding along, grinning ear to ear.

“Aye, one of the few attractive dwarrows our line has managed to turn out! Lovely beard she has, and a lovely figure to match!” He laughed at the affronted looks he was given, though some, Dwalin especially, were laughing at the look on Bilbo’s face.

“Lads! That is your mother you speak of!” Dori admonished, though it was clear by his reddening cheeks that he didn’t disagree exactly. Fili nodded at him.

“Of course it is! Who else would know as well as us?” He gestured to Kili, who looked close to falling off his stump, spurts of laughter coming out of his mouth.

“I didn’t know female dwarrows grew beards,” Bilbo said thoughtfully, tapping his bare chin. Balin glanced at him in surprise, as most of the other dwarrows started a debate on which ladies back in the Blue Mountain were the most attractive. Gloin was especially adamant it was his own wife.

“Didn’t you? I suppose you don’t see many dwarrows in the Shire,” Balin said, and Bilbo nodded, before frowning again.

“What in Mahal’s name did Kili mean, one of the few attractive dwarrows in their line?” Thorin looked up at him in surprise, before turning away, pretending to watch the chaos Fili had caused.

“Ah,” Balin coughed awkwardly, as Fili offered to challenge Gloin for his wife’s honor. 

“Well, Master Baggins, dwarrows see a large belly and fine beard as two of the most important physical traits. That is, in making one attractive.” Bilbo frowned at him, brows furrowed in confusion. Thorin realized he was watching them both, again, but instead leaned back in his seat, half-closing his eyes to feign disinterest or sleep. Neither of the other two seemed to notice.

“I suppose that makes sense, but…” he hesitated, and finally fell silent. Thorin settled back further, unnerved to find he had started to lean forward to hear Bilbo’s answer.

“Are things so different with hobbits?” Balin asked. Fili had actually gotten Gloin to agree to a duel as to which lass back in the Blue Mountains was most beautiful, and the others had gathered to watch.

Bilbo looked thoughtful as he answered.

“Well, no, not exactly. Hobbits would agree that a round belly and good hair are important; though we prefer thick hair on the feet, not the chin!” He added, grinning at Balin, who chuckled. Then he continued.

“But if one were well muscled and had a nice face, a lack of roundness wouldn’t be a loss. Some prefer the muscle, in fact; otherwise millers and masons would likely be rather harder to find.”

“Which is why,” he continued, looking determined, “I found what Kili said so odd. He and Fili would certainly be popular in the Shire.” Balin looked a bit taken aback, before his gaze turned sly. 

“And what of our leader?” Bilbo squirmed, and his face turned red again. Thorin again had to look away, and hoped it wasn’t obvious he was listening to them. Though, as he was seated next to Balin, he doubted he was successful.

“… Him as well, though only if he smiled a bit more. Hobbits prefer pleasant faces.” Bilbo sounded a bit surprised by his own daring.

“Uncle can look pleasant if he’s had some ale!” Kili called out gleefully, dropping into the seat next to Bilbo, who startled and nearly fell over. Thorin glared at his nephew, who grinned unrepentantly, and threw an arm over Bilbo’s shoulder.

“Did I hear you say I’d be a hit in the Shire? Brother! We need to go back! The lovely hobbit lasses and lads find the pair of us a lovely sight!” Fili didn’t respond, as he was still fighting with Gloin, but he managed to send a rather filthy wink his brother’s way and grinned lecherously. 

“Does that mean you think I look fit, Mister Boggins?” Kili asked Bilbo, leaning close to the hobbit. Bilbo wiggled out from under his arm, and pinched him in the side.

“You’re barely a tween, Kili. Even if I did, you’re much too young,” he said in annoyance, while Kili yelped.

“Would that make Uncle more the right age? How old are you, Mister Boggins?” He asked, wincing a bit. Bilbo turned so dark red Thorin worried for his health. 

“I’m fifty five, thank you very much.” He said, ignoring the first question entirely. Balin looked at him in surprise. Kili gaped.

“Only fifty? Why, you’re a mere babe!” Balin looked troubled as well. Before either of them could speak, Bilbo cut them off, gesturing in annoyance.

“Hobbits only live to be a hundred or so, I am perfectly middle aged! I do not want to hear a word about my age, thank you very much!” He scowled, crossing his arms with a huff. Kili giggled, and stood to wander back to the duel that was, surprisingly, still going strong. 

Thorin watched his nephew finally lose the fight, and even when he glanced at the brothers Ri and Bombur throughout the rest of the evening, he had no urge to tug on his beard.

He didn’t smile, though. Not yet.


	9. Chapter 9

Balin had to admit, at least to himself, that having a Hobbit in the Company was fascinating. Generally, the Halflings of the Shire were far too shy to leave their homeland, and very little was known about their lives. He had heard rumors, ranging from the plausible (Hobbits are relatives of the Elves, for instance) to the ridiculous (Hobbits grow their children in the earth like potatoes). But to have a Hobbit with them, to be able to ask Master Baggins about his people! For a scholar, it was an incredible opportunity. 

For instance, on their third morning traveling together, he noticed that Bilbo was packing away a small portion of his breakfast, a few pieces of sausage and some fruit he had gathered as they walked. He frowned, bemused. All available information about Hobbits said they had incredible appetites for their size, and their rations were not large. Nothing compared to the feast they had had in the Hobbits home. (He had been informed to never call it a burrow, despite being partially underground, unless he wanted to gravely insult the Halfling).

“Master Baggins, are you not feeling well?” He asked, approaching him carefully. Bilbo glanced up from where he was packing up his bedroll and belongings. His complete lack of a beard was still startling from time to time, and it was only through ironclad self control that Balin didn’t stare at his smooth chin.

“I’m perfectly alright, Master Balin,” he answered after a moment, in a cautious tone of voice. Balin gestured towards the small bundle of food Bilbo had just gathered together.

“You’ve barely touched your breakfast; I’m afraid there won’t be much else until the end of the day. Best eat up,” he advised, though as he spoke, Bilbo’s face became more drawn, brows pulling closer together.

“That’s why I’m setting some aside to eat on the road. I’m afraid my Hobbit stomach isn’t up to not eating for the entirety of the day. Hobbits have seven meals throughout, it is a large change to go to two. Not to worry,” he added frantically, apparently reading into the bewilderment on Balin’s face, “I’m sure I’ll get used to it! Just, it will take me a few days!” 

“You have seven meals in a day?!” Kili exclaimed, and they both jumped. Neither of them had noticed that several members of the Company were listening in to the conversation. Bilbo shrugged, clearly tense at the added scrutiny.

“Well, yes. Not huge meals, mind you, but we do have seven. But that would be a waste of time, stopping for those, so I’ve just been saving some breakfast to eat around luncheon. I… what is it?” Kili’s eyes were darting all over his body, as though looking for more to the Hobbit’s body he hadn’t already seen.

“Where do you put it all?” Fili asked, leaning close. Bilbo seemed to curl into himself, as though to make himself look smaller than he already was, and Balin scowled, shooing the boys away from him.

“That is enough! Leave the lad be. He’s not a Dwarf, of course Hobbits do things differently,” he admonished, and glared until they moved further away, out of Bilbo’s personal space. He turned back to receive a grateful look from Bilbo. 

“Don’t let those two get away with anything, Master Baggins. They’ll walk all over you otherwise.” Bilbo nodded, and he seemed to stand just a bit straighter.

“My thanks, Master Balin,” he said, before chuckling to himself. “Perhaps I ought to keep what I do differently more secretive, so they don’t continue to badger me?” Balin shook his head.

“Do that, and they’ll try to get you into a fake beard within a fortnight. Now, if you don’t mind, would you explain all these meals to me? I’m having a difficult time imagining how one could even fit that many meals into a day!”

As Bilbo began to explain the system, his eyes bright at the prospect of having someone speaking to him, hands gesturing as he spoke, Balin settled back with a small smile.

Fascinating creatures, Hobbits. He was looking forward to learning more.


	10. Chapter 10

It had been many years since Bifur had felt normal, in comparison to most Dwarrows. It didn’t bother him, not really. Not being able to speak Westron had drawbacks, to be sure, but it also had advantages. He could understand it still, and overheard many things because others didn’t realize he still knew exactly what they were saying. 

The memory problems were unfortunate as well, but he had Bofur, and Bombur, and a host of nieces and nephews that reminded him every day who he was and where he was, if he needed reminding. 

The odd taste for green things, well, that was strange, but it meant that he didn’t have to share, so he didn’t ponder it much. Most Dwarrrows didn’t care for anything out of the ground unless it had been well cooked, usually with meat, and in no way was green. 

Hobbits, he learned, were very different.

“Ooh, mushrooms!” Bilbo exclaimed, darting off the walking path into the underbrush. Bofur stopped, peering after their now-lost Hobbit in bewilderment, as did a few others. Bifur, after pausing a moment, went after him. It wouldn’t be good to lose their Hobbit, especially so soon after nearly being eaten.

He found him perched around a gathering of mushrooms. There was an almost perfect circle of them growing, but Bilbo was avoiding those, instead picking at the ones around the edges of the patch.

“Oh, Master Bifur! I’m sorry, you didn’t need to come after me. This will only take a moment,” Bilbo said, placing a few more of the plants into his bag. Bifur crouched down, looking at them, before pointing to the ring.

_“What about those?”_ He asked, though he knew that Bilbo wouldn’t understand him. He did, however, realize what Bifur meant, glancing at the circle.

“Oh, we can’t take those. Never touch a fairy ring. It’s… an old superstition, to be honest.” He looked… nervous? No, shy. Bifur nodded anyway, hoping he would continue. 

“My mother used to take me into the Old Forest, looking for, oh, fairies and fireflies. Adventures fit for fauntlings, she would say,” Bilbo murmured after a moment, eyes distant. He gestured towards the circle of mushrooms again.

“Those are called fairy rings, and according to the tales, entering one will take you to their halls. They sing and dance and feast, an everlasting celebration fit for royalty! But entering, you see, is dangerous, because while you can go in easily enough, leaving again is almost impossible.” Bilbo gestured grandly as he spoke, and for a moment, Bifur imagined the scene; fantastic figures swirling around in an eternal ball. He’d never been to a ball, but the image looked nice enough in his mind. 

“Well, we ought to get back. I doubt Thorin will be pleased by our leaving, if he’s noticed at all,” Bilbo muttered the last, and began walking towards the path. Bifur trailed, before glancing back towards the ground. Crouching down, he pulled up a long stemmed flower with white petals. Reaching Bilbo just before he reached the path, he popped the end of the flower into his mouth and exited first.

The Company had continued along the path, but the relatively straight path allowed them a clear view of where they were. Thorin glanced back as they hurried forwards, scowling, but didn’t speak as the two rejoined the group. 

“What did Master Baggins go looking for in the woods back there?” Bofur asked, glancing at where Bilbo was now walking along, chatting with Ori. “Did he really go for mushrooms?” Bifur shrugged, chewing absently on his flower.

_“We were looking for fairies.”_


	11. Chapter 11

When Bilbo woke, he wasn’t sure why he had. It was the middle of the night. After a moment, though, the sound of quiet chuckles clued him in. 

“Careful, just… there!” KIli’s whispered voice came to him from only a few feet away. Carefully not moving any other part of his face, Bilbo let one eye creep open, and saw that the dwarf in question was hunched over his pack, and seemed to be pushing something inside.

After another few seconds of shuffling, Kili made his way back to the fire, where Fili probably sat; it was just out of Bilbo’s vision. He could hear murmured conversation, more soft laughter. 

Looking back at his pack, he could see something shifting inside. An animal? Probably a frog, or perhaps a mouse; it didn’t look large. So, they were planning on surprising him?

Bilbo smirked, before closing his eyes and letting his mind drift back to sleep. They had no idea what they were getting into.

XxX

The next morning, he didn’t bother reacting to finding what turned out to be a toad in his bag.

“Oh, how lovely! We’ll have supper for tomorrow night!” He said cheerfully, pretending to slip it back into his pack, while instead letting it slip out of his hands into the bushes. Fili, who was the closest, gagged.

“Master Baggins, you wouldn’t really eat a toad, would you?” Bilbo gave him an innocent look.

“The Valar must think I will, or I wouldn’t have found one in my pack. It was sealed up last night, if I recall,” he explained, and almost laughed at Fili’s disturbed face.

“Er… Master Baggins…” he started, but before he could finish his sentence, Thorin called for them to get a move-on, and Bilbo hurried forward to walk next to Ori, who was frowning at him.

“Are you really going to eat that toad, Mister Bilbo?” He whispered, glancing behind them where Fili was talking to Kili. Both looked very concerned.

“Good heavens, no. But I have no intention of becoming the target of their amusements,” Bilbo murmured back. Ori pressed his lips together in an attempt not to laugh. He wasn’t entirely successful, though, and he ended up making an odd choking sound. Nori glanced back at them, but didn’t say anything. 

Once he had managed to get hold of himself, Ori leaned in, a questioning look on his face.

“Are you planning on anything else? They have been rather obnoxious for the past few nights…” Bilbo shrugged, resettling his pack on his shoulders.

“I’m not one for retaliation. But I also have a great many cousins, nieces and nephews, and nobody in the Shire isn’t capable of pranking with the best of them.” He winked at Ori, and couldn’t help the small twinge of interest at the idea of starting a small war. 

XxX

He sets his bedroll a small distance from the others, noticing that Fili and Kili were still watching him. He pretended he hadn’t noticed, rummaging through his bag for a small sewing kit, laying out his spare coat to patch the hole he had ripped two days before. 

When nothing jumped out of his bag, and he showed no signs of looking for an escaped toad, Kili approached him. 

“Master Boggins… about this morning…” Bilbo looked up at him, smiling innocently. 

“Yes? Oh, you mean the toad I found?” He asked, letting his face fall into an apologetic grimace, “I already took care of it. I do hope you didn’t want me to share?” Kili grimaced.

“No thanks, I don’t eat… toads.” Bilbo leaned forward, earnest now.

“Do you prefer squirrel? Cats? Never cared for them, personally,” he asked, biting down a huge grin at the horror on Kili’s face.

“No, I’ve never had squirrel before. Is that something you’ve eaten in the Shire?” Kili asked, and Bilbo could see curiosity warring with disgust in his face. 

“Sure. But I had some squirrel in my pantry, and it was all finished when I checked. Are you certain you didn’t eat it?” He watched, wholly satisfied as Kili’s face twisted, revulsion clear. 

“You did? Which… ah, which dish was it?” He could see Fili watching them from a distance, close enough to hear what was being said. 

“Oh, I can’t recall now. It was a stew of some kind, I suppose.” Which he had seen Kili eating, and from the look on his face, he knew it as well. 

“Master Baggins…” he started, but he didn’t seem to have any idea what to say, and trailed off. Bilbo watched him for a few minutes.

“Wasn’t there something you wanted to tell me, Kili?” He finally asked, raising a brow when Kili bit his lip, looking nervous.

“Say, perhaps, that you slipped a toad into my pack the other night?” He continued blithely, setting aside his things and standing up, putting his hands on his hips.

“What?” There was a completely gob smacked look on Kili’s face. Very satisfying, all in all. Bilbo felt a moment of regret for not expanding the prank longer, or playing it up (he knew that Thorin had eaten the stew as well), but he didn’t feel the need to do that. 

This time.

Kili was examining his face closely, and a look of understanding crossed his face.

“You’ve been pulling my leg!” He exclaimed, pointing at him in shock. Bilbo finally allowed himself to grin at him, patting his arm as he walked past.

“I’m a light sleeper; try not talking next time,” he responded cheerfully, moving past to collect his dinner. Ori was whispering to Nori, who looked about ready to burst, and Fili was staring as though he had never seen him before.

Thorin was watching him as he approached the fire, eyebrow raised. 

“I suspect, Master Baggins, that you have played some joke on my nephews. What was the reason?” Bilbo shrugged a shoulder, accepting his portion of food. 

“They slipped an uninvited guest into my pack last night. I didn’t appreciate it,” he answered, watching in amazement when Thorin chuckled, shaking his head.

“Perhaps it is better I warn you; they may just take that as a challenge instead of a deterrent.” Bilbo frowned, glancing behind him, where the boys were now talking quietly, glancing at him every few minutes.

“I know, but I preferred to retaliate rather than let them walk all over me. Especially after the ‘orc raid’ joke when we were at Weathertop.” Thorin scowled at the reminder of the event, though it had happened weeks ago. 

“They ought to be more mature than this,” He murmured, rubbing his hand over his face,   
“they’re adults, past their majority.” Bilbo patted his arm, with a small smile.

“I know plenty of hobbits that don’t ever grow out of it. They’ve survived up until now. And Fili and Kili are young still,” he consoled, but Thorin shook his head.

“It is different, Master Baggins. We are not in your homeland, we are surrounded by enemies. A jovial attitude could get them killed.” Bilbo’s eyes narrowed, but he had to concede that he had a point. 

“Still, I wouldn’t worry about some fun along the way. It’s harmless, Master Oakenshield. I may not like it, but they need it.” When Thorin looked at him in confusion, he pressed his lips together, debating how to explain.

“They’re adults, but barely. They need something, or else this quest? Will break them.” Thorin glanced at him sharply.

“They need to be adults, or they will get themselves killed, and any others with them,” he responded, glaring. Bilbo returned the look, nostrils flaring.

“If you punish them for still being able to smile at all, their spirits will die long before the orcs get to them,” Bilbo spat, annoyed at how near sighted Thorin was being. Thorin glared, but Fili, who was apparently standing just behind Bilbo, spoke up.

“Master Baggins! Had to offer my congratulations for fooling us both like that! Really had the pair of us going,” Fili crowed, leaning heavily on Bilbo’s shoulder. Bilbo broke his gaze with Thorin to look at him, smiling slightly.

“Glad to have entertained you. I will ask you not to let it happen again, though,” he joked, ignoring Thorin entirely.

“Now why would we do that?” Kili asked, coming up on his other side. Bilbo glanced at him, smirking.

“Boys, I live alone surrounded by a large number of bored fauntlings that love nothing better than trying to get one over strange Mr. Baggins up on the hill. I’m used to worse than you.” Fili grinned.

“Is that a challenge, Master Baggins?” He asked, leaning even closer. Bilbo could see the contours of his oddly round ears..

“Just a comment. Do you like snakes, Fili?” He asked pleasantly, and moved away to eat his food, though it was already growing cold. 

“… Snakes? Bilbo, what do you mean? Bilbo?”


	12. Chapter 12

Nori settled into the chair carefully, repressing a groan. It had been far too long since he had been able to actually sit; the last time had been at the Hobbit’s home, and that was several weeks ago already. This would be the last stop they could make, and even a city of Elves had beds and food.

Of a sort, anyway, he thought, looking at the table. Vegetables. Nothing but green food and a few fruits lay on the table. He could see Ori already protesting further down; he hated green food. The others were having similar reactions, except Bifur, who seemed to be eating the decorative flowers in the vase.

The Burglar seemed to be fine with the fare as well, but he was watching them, frowning. Nori glanced back down at the food he’d been offered, before shrugging and beginning to eat. It wasn’t particularly appetizing, but it was food, and he was hungry.

Some of the elves walking by were murmuring to themselves, but in Sindarin, and while Nori was talented at many things, Elvish was not on that list. Balin had some skill at it, but from a glance at his face, he hadn’t caught what was said. 

The Hobbit had, though, if he was reading his face correctly. He looked stricken, almost, and looked back at his food before slowly setting it back down. He didn’t take another bite through the meal, instead speaking to Balin and looking at the head table where Thorin, Gandalf, and Lord Elrond sat speaking in low tones. 

The meal ended, and they were led to a hall with several bedrooms off of it. Balin, Thorin, the Burglar and Gandalf went off with Lord Elrond. The rest of them, still hungry and annoyed, ended up breaking the chairs and tables to start a fire. The sausages were enough to settle his stomach. 

From the edge of the room, he could see their guard, a rather sour-faced Elf that Gandalf had called Lindir, giving them what likely passed for a dirty look from the doorway. Nori shrugged it off; Elves wouldn’t know how to have a good time if it bit them on the arse anyway.

Much later, the others had retired to the rooms their hosts had provided. Nori, however, waited in the common area for the rest of their Company, who arrived shortly. Except the Wizard, Nori noted as he sat up to greet them. Thorin and Balin were in deep, quiet conversation, and only spared him a glance and a nod. Bilbo, however, walked over and sat down, pulling out a pipe to smoke.

“So, did our host have anything useful to say, or more useless drivel?” Nori asked, lighting his own pipe. 

“There were Moon Runes on the map, which spell out some riddle with a thrush. I’d say whoever created that map did not want anyone to ever find the entrance, even his own kin,” Bilbo said quietly, glancing at Thorin and Balin across the room, still talking. 

“Older Dwarrows were very fond of their mysteries. Try getting into Moria sometime, you’ll see what I mean.” He leaned back on his hands, looking out the open wall onto the clear night sky. Bilbo chuckled.

“I think this may be my last adventure, thank you very much. All together too much rain and sleeping on the ground for my tastes.” He looked like he was about to say more, when a loud grumble broke the quiet. Nori looked over in surprise; Bilbo appeared embarrassed, rubbing at his stomach sheepishly.

“Not enough leaves to keep you happy? Here, there’re a few sausages left from earlier,” Nori handed over the few he had saved for himself. Bilbo looked extremely grateful as he accepted the offering, and ate them quickly enough to keep Nori from regretting giving up his snack.

“Thank you. And no, I’m sure the food would have been satisfying enough, but I didn’t want to eat at the Elves table after… well, they were saying very far from flattering things about some fellows I’ve grown rather fond of.” Nori stared, puzzled.

“You skipped half of your supper because you were offended for us?” What kind of bizarre person did that? On a quest, where the next bite of food was questionable at best?

“It may not apply to you, or to Elves, but for a Hobbit host to have people leave the table hungry would be the height of insulting. I realize this isn’t the Shire, but I didn’t care to join your drinking and singing, and that is what I know to do.” He sniffed, clearly miffed that Nori didn’t understand. Nori pursed his lips, trying not to think about ow he likely looked like Dori at the moment.

“Mister Baggins, I was only expressing my surprise that you were so offended that you skipped supper. You seemed fascinated by the Elves before this.” Bilbo shrugged, chewing on the end of his pipe.

“You didn’t hear what they said. I’ll survive a day or so. If you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll try to get some sleep. Thorin wants to leave as early as possible; apparently he thinks they may try to stop us. Goodnight Nori.” He shuffled off, tapping the ashes out of his pipe onto a railing as he passed. Nori continued smoking peacefully for a few minutes, before Balin stopped next to him.

“What did Master Baggins say?” He asked, looming slightly over Nori. They’d never exactly gotten along, but Nori did respect him. 

Which is why he didn’t kick him in the kneecap. The only reason, to be honest.

“Just letting me know an interesting bit about Hobbits. Apparently having someone leave the table hungry is a most grievous insult to them, and Bilbo heard something so rude that he decided to not finish his meal before we left the hall.” Balin’s eyebrows lifted, and Nori grinned. Always fun to get a reaction out of Balin. Nori tapped out his own pipe, rolled to the side and stood. He was still shorter than Balin, but it made him feel on more equal footing.

“He speaks Sindarin?” 

“Apparently. And is fond enough of us to forego a meal, from what he said. Well, I’m off. Want to get some sleep in a bed before we head out again.” Nori waved at Thorin, who stood far on the side of the room, watching either their conversation or the sky. 

Later, curled between the soft bedding and listening to the quiet sounds of bugs and frogs, Nori wondered if any Elves had known that tidbit of information about Hobbits. It would be rather amusing to see their expressions, knowing they had offended the only member of the Company they seemed to like.


	13. Chapter 13

Bofur knew the rest of the Company didn’t care much for their Burglar. He was unused to travel, and frequently complained, at least to himself, about the cold and the discomfort of their journey. For the others, who often had to live in this fashion, he was acting childish. Bofur saw it the other way around; here was this person, used to comfort and safety, who had for unexplainable reasons joined their quest. Even after being furious at their intrusion, and fainting at the mention of a dragon, here he was, as cold as hungry as the rest of them.

“Master Bofur, would you care for some pipe weed? I have some Old Toby, and personally I believe it is best when shared,” Bilbo said, settling down next to him. Bofur turned and grinned.

“I could do with a smoke.” 

It certainly didn’t hurt his opinion, Bofur thought to himself, that Bilbo was rather friendly once he was more comfortable. They settled into a smoke, quietly watching the smoke curl into the dark sky. Bilbo blew smoke rings every once in a while, and Bofur tried to blow smoke through the rings. 

As the days wore on, Bofur kept an eye on his new-found friend. Bilbo rarely spoke to the others, and kept to himself as they walked. He would listen if others tried to speak to him, but didn’t usually approach others. Besides Bofur, only Gloin really spoke to him, and that was because of Bilbo’s willingness to listen when he spoke of his wife and son. Again. 

“Gimli, my lad, he wanted to come on this quest. Had a hard time convincing him to stay, he’s only a few years younger than Kili. Was fairly sure he’d follow us into the Shire, to be honest.” Gloin told Bilbo, as the three of them gathered firewood one night. Bofur barely managed not to groan; Gloin had barely spoken about anything else on the way from the Blue Mountains to the Shire.

“He sounds like a brave lad, then,” Bilbo said, giving Gloin a smile before turning back to his job. Gloin beamed at him, pride clear.

“He is that! Well spoken, too. Takes after his mother that way, both of them have a way with words. Makes me proud every day,” he bragged, chest puffing out. Bofur grinned into his beard, ducking away. If you wanted to win points with Gloin, compliment his family.

Gloin approached Bilbo a number of times after that, telling him tales of how he met his wife, small adventures with Gimli or Oin, things the rest of the Company had heard far too many times. Bilbo listened every time, with apparent endless patience. Bofur was a bit shocked, as Bilbo rarely showed patience with other things; he was usually easily annoyed. 

The others noticed that Bilbo was willing to listen to anyone, and some of them tok advantage. Ori was the first after Gloin, wandering over to where Bofur and Bilbo were sitting.

“Bilbo? I’ve been wondering, how well do you know Sindarin?” Somehow, word had gotten around that Bilbo spoke Sindarin, after their stop in Rivendell, though no-one was certain who had said it first.

“I understand it better than I speak, I’m afraid,” Bilbo confessed, as though it was shameful that he was less than perfect at an Elven language. Ori nodded excitedly, sitting next to him. Bilbo turned to face him, eyebrows raised.

“It’s just that- I’ve been studying, because of course many of the oldest written texts are in Sindarin, but I don’t understand enough to get through them, so I hoped you could give me a hand? If you don’t mind, of course!” Ori babbled out, ringing his hands and barely looking at Bilbo, who shrugged, chewing at his pipe stem.

“If you have some paper and something to write with, I’ll do what I can. I’m not the best with Sindarin, remember,” Bilbo warned, but Ori was already nodding and moving to his pack, presumably for supplies. 

“Well, I suppose I’ll be playing tutor,” Bilbo said with some humor, grinning at Bofur. 

“Sounds exciting. Glad its you, not me. No gift for speaking, myself,” Bofur confessed. Bilbo scoffed at him.

“I just have too much time to myself, really. Spend most of my time either writing or reading,” Bilbo said, mostly to himself, as Ori walked quickly back. Dori was looking over curiously, but the rest of the Company was ignoring their gathering.

It became a routine; Bofur and Bilbo would settle down for a smoke, and after a bit Ori would join them, and the lessons would begin. Bofur found that he was picking up a few words here and there, but Ori seemed to be excelling, and after only a few weeks the two were having short conversations together. 

For what Bofur assumed was his benefit, Bilbo spent one lesson teaching how to curse properly in Sindarin. A very useful and important lesson, Bofur thought, and said so. Bilbo nearly fell over, laughing.

Dori came over a few days after that, simply sitting and listening while Ori practiced speaking about gemstones.

“My thanks, Master Baggins, for taking the time to teach my brother. It is customary amongst Dwarrow to offer payment for tutelage. May I ask what you would accept?” Bilbo glanced up at him, startled out of adding to the list of translations he was working on. Ori looked away from the two of them, looking a bit red in the face.

“I don’t need any payment, Master Dori, I was happy to offer my services.” Dori shook his head.

“It would be a great insult to not give something. I am a skilled weaver, if that is something you would accept.” He spoke with a formal tone, and his hands, clasped in his lap, were tense. Bilbo pursed his lips.

“I’m afraid I don’t know. Amongst Hobbits, it is expected to offer to teach fauntlings and younger hobbits any skills they might be interested in. Would you be willing to wait until I have given it some thought?” Dori nodded after a moment, and seemed to grow less tense after that. He stayed quiet, listening to Ori as he began to speak again, stumbling over some of the Elven words but sounding more confident as he went on.

“Well, this may be the first time a conversation about opals was held in Sindarin, but you’re doing well.,” Bilbo complimented, and Ori beamed. Bofur noticed that Dori looked pleased by the praise as well, though he no doubt had had no idea what Ori had said until Bilbo had spoken. 

“Bofur?” Bilbo asked quietly, after Ori and Dori had moved away to settle for sleep. Bofur grunted to show he was listening, as he tapped out his pipe.

“What would be acceptable in payment, for teaching Ori? I don’t want to offend Dori by saying something wrong,” Bilbo asked under his breath. Bofur chuckled.

“Would be an insult to you, not Dori, if no payment was made. Implies that your services have no value, is all. Should ask for something that would take about the same time to create, but I don’t know what that could be, considering our current location and all.” Bilbo snorted a laugh.

“So, it would not offend him if I asked for something small, or simple? Truly, I didn’t consider teaching Ori some difficult task or service.” Bofur shrugged.

“Don’t pick something easy, or Dori might think you think him unskilled. Mind, this isn’t something I’ve done before, my da taught me to whittle and mine. You offerin’ to teach without askin’ fer something back isn’t the norm fer Dwarrow. And,” he continued, lowering his voice, “Dori isn’t the richest of dwarves, so finding a tutor for Ori couldn’t be easy.” Bilbo nodded, and looked thoughtful. 

“Would anyone in the family be able to offer payment? If I asked Ori or Nori for something, instead of Dori, would that be acceptable?” Bofur considered it.

“Usually, t’would fall onto the eldest of the family to pay for teachin’ and such, but it’s fine since none of them have the same craft,” he eventually responded, hoping Dori would see things the same way. He didn’t want Bilbo to offend Dori under his advice.

“I believe I have a solution. Thank you,” Bilbo began to set his bedroll up. 

“Aye. So, teachin’ isn’t something paid for in the Shire?” Bofur asked curiously.

“Well, formal teaching is usually handled by the parents, and apprenticeships are another matter entirely. Truthfully, there would usually be some kind of exchange, but that would be a pie or vegetables from the garden. Neighborly things, not an actual payment.” Bilbo yawned, and lay down. Bofur followed suit. 

“Odd things, hobbits are,” he said, as he nodded off. Bilbo chuckled from beside him.

The next evening, as Ori came over for his own lesson, Bilbo called Nori over as well.

“Nori, would it be possible for you to show me how to fight? I noticed you carry a lot of knives, and, well, my blade is barely long enough to be used for butter, so…” Bofur snorted, but Nori looked shocked. 

“You want me to teach you?” He asked slowly, sounding out each word. Bilbo nodded.

“Would that be an acceptable payment for teaching Ori? I do not wish to insult Dori, but he doesn’t use bladed weapons, and I worry that I will get someone hurt without knowing how to defend myself.” Bilbo explained, and Nori frowned.

“I’m willing, but surely you want something else? Showing you how to not die on this quest isn’t something that-” Bilbo cut him off.

“It is to me, as teaching Ori Sindarin was to you. An equal trade, wouldn’t you say? One lesson for the other?” Nori looked like he wanted to argue, but then grinned.

“Ori had some skill at Elvish before he started; might be harder for me than you, teaching.” Bilbo made a face at him. 

“If you don’t want to…” Nori waved him off.

“Fine, fine, just be warned, I’m not going to go easy on you.” Bilbo nodded. Nori gave him one more long look, before going over to Dori, who had been watching the exchange closely. Bilbo began the lesson with Ori, clearly unbothered now that Nori had agreed, but Bofur watched, curious.

Dori’s face went from confused, to surprised, and finally to a brief look of pride before nodding curtly, apparently ending the conversation.

“Why didn’t you ask Dori for something valuable?” Ori asked, as Bilbo packed away the writing tools.

“Because I would prefer not to have your brother feel indebted to me, and I think that asking him to help me repair my coat would be insulting to his skill as a weaver. This way, I learn something I need to in order to make it through this, and I don’t feel that I’m taking advantage of your family.” Bilbo explained easily, and then smiled at Ori.

“It is little difficulty, considering how skilled my student is. I still may be taking some advantage. Nori is right, I have no skill in fighting.” Ori shook his head.

“But you only really need that skill until we finish our quest. Knowing Sindarin will be helpful long after, if we’re successful.” Bilbo frowned, then shrugged.

“Well, let’s agree that they’re equal commitments, and head to sleep. We’ll be needing our energy, after all.” Ori left, and they settled down.

“Nice solution,” Bofur said, as he lay down. 

“Useful lessons in exchange for me being allowed to babble at Ori about languages,” Bilbo shrugged. “I’m sure that I came out on top here, to be honest.” 

Bofur laughed as he pulled his hat over his face.


	14. Chapter 14

“Mister Baggins?” Ori called out, holding up some of his Sindarin work for Bilbo to look over. Bilbo, who was panting slightly from the training Nori was putting him through, glanced at him.

“You can call me Bilbo, you know,” Bilbo responded in a breathy voice, taking the parchment and beginning to read it over. He didn’t notice Ori’s look of surprise.

“I- it’s an honor, Mis- Bilbo!” He exclaimed, but in a quiet voice that didn’t quite carry away from where they sat. He hastened to add, “You may have my name as well, Bilbo.” Bilbo frowned, looking up at him.

“Have your name?” He asked, lowering the paper to peer at him. Ori blushed, glad for the scarf that partially hid his face.

“Yes? Is that not what you meant by telling me to call you Bilbo?” Ori fretted, wringing his hands. There had been a number of misunderstandings since the quest started; Ori didn’t want to accidentally offend his new friend!

“Of course you can, you just made it sound- is there some reason calling someone by their name would be an honor amongst Dwarrow?” Ori breathed a sigh of relief, and sat up straight, as though he was reciting for a teacher.

“Giving your name to someone is a sign of great respect and trust. Besides family, only close friends would be given permission,” he explained, and watched understanding dawn on Bilbo’s face. 

“Ah… thank you, it does explain a few things,” Bilbo mused, more to himself than Ori. Without another word, he went back to looking over Ori’s writing. Ori grinned to himself, pleased. He was the first one Bilbo had given permission to; even if he didn’t know what it meant to Dwarrow, it was an honor. Besides Bofur and Balin, Ori was one of the few that regularly interacted with the Hobbit. 

He bragged quietly to Nori when they were settling down to sleep, too pleased to keep it to himself. Nori looked… less excited than Ori did. Dori was quiet from where he was listening across from him.

“Are you sure he didn’t mean anything by it, Ori? It isn’t something different to Hobbits?” He finally asked, and Ori frowned. Bilbo had said it was just not a huge concern to Hobbits, surely if it meant something he would have said so?

“Remember the issue with his feet, Ori; might not mention if there was something to it,” Nori advised. Dori rolled over to speak to them directly.

“What are you implying? Mister Baggins has done nothing dishonorable, has he Ori?” Ori shook his head, almost violently. 

“No, no! Nothing of the sort. He’s been friendly, and just friendly. Nothing unusual!” He kept his voice as low as he could; he knew Bilbo had rather sensitive hearing, and it would be absolutely mortifying if he heard what his brothers were saying. 

Nori was shaking his own head, loose hair shifting against his rolled up cloak. 

“Just feels odd, is all. Been traveling for a while, and only now he says you can call him his name?” Ori shrugged, settling against his own bedroll. 

“He said it wasn’t as formal, amongst Hobbits. It sounded as though merely being close friends would imply permission, for him. I suppose he may think we all don’t care for him as much, always calling him by his last name,” Ori pondered, and didn’t realize that he was a bit too loud. Bilbo, fast asleep near the Urs, didn’t hear, but a few others nearer did. 

Nori settled back, closing his eyes.

“Fine, fine, I won’t ask his intentions,” he muttered, and Ori snorted a laugh, while Dori grumbled and rolled back over. Dori was well known for asking the intentions of anyone that came near Ori; Nori had been too secretive for him to know who was close to him, but Ori he could smother. 

Ori breathed a sigh of relief; he didn’t want to embarrass Bilbo, especially so soon after being given his name!

XxX

The next morning, several of the Dwarrow were whispering to each other, instead of their usual boisterous laughter and chatter. It made Bilbo tense, as they were all talking in Khuzdul, rather than Westron. There was only one reason Bilbo could think of that they would speaking their own language than Westron; they didn’t want him to understand them. 

It happened on occasion, especially when there were certain secret parts of Dwarven culture that he, as an outsider, shouldn’t know. Or when speaking to Bifur, as it was easier than using two languages. But everyone doing so at the same time made Bilbo a bit paranoid as to what they were saying. 

“So Mister Baggins,” Bofur said, sliding up to him while Bilbo packed up his bedroll and coat. “Sleep well?” Was it just Bilbo’s imagination, or was Bofur putting emphasis on the ‘mister?’ Bilbo shrugged.

“Well enough, though my ears are buzzing this morning,” he added pointedly, raising his eyebrows at Bofur, who shrugged, grinning. 

“Ah, it’s just simple gossip, Mister Baggins,” he replied easily, buckling his own pack shut. Yes, Bilbo decided, he was definitely heavily emphasizing the ‘mister.’ Bilbo rolled his eyes.

“You can call me Bilbo, Master Bofur. Oh, wait, how did Ori put it? You may have my name,” he nodded to himself, and glanced over to see Bofur’s surprised, pleased smile. Bilbo grinned sheepishly back at him.

“I didn’t realize that you were waiting for my invitation,” he explained, but Bofur’s grin didn’t fade. 

“Course I was, what do you take me for? Some brutish dwarf with no manners? Speakin of manners, have my name too.” Bilbo laughed, and the tension faded from his body.

“My thanks. I was worried I’ve been insulting you all by not giving permission already,” Bilbo finally replied, as the rest of the Company began to set out, following Thorin out from their campsite. 

“Nah. T’ be honest, the others are worrying about the same thing. Another one of those mix-ups we’re so good at in this Company. Mind, you’ll probably be getting offers through the day,” Bofur told him, lighting his pipe with a slight flourish. 

Bofur was right; as the day went on, most of the Company made excuses to fall to where Bilbo was walking, and eventually would offer their name. Bifur needed Bofur to translate, which he did with excessive amusement. 

Fili came up to him, and in the most pompous tone he could apparently manage, intoned “Mister Bilbo Baggins, member of the Company of Thorin Oakenshield, may I offer to you my name, Fili son of Dis?” Bilbo had to stifle his laughter in his sleeve.

“I accept. May I offer to you my own name, Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, son of Belladonna Baggins nee Took and Bungo Baggins, head of the Baggins family?” He could have added more, but he could barely keep a straight face, and Fili’s cheeks were suspiciously red as he nodded solemnly. 

Then they both half collapsed, laughing so loudly that even the few in the very front glanced back at them. Kili came up then, apparently to try and top his brother, but ended up choking on his own laughs, and gasping out his own invitation.

By the time they stopped, Bilbo was on first name basis with all the Company except Dwalin and Thorin. He doesn’t really expect to receive either of their names; despite them no longer being actively hostile, they weren’t exactly close companions.

They settled into a small clearing, separated from the path by a number of fallen rocks, clearly from the mountain that loomed above them. Bilbo leaned against one, watching the others settle down to rest before dinner. 

“Mister Baggins,” a gruff voice asked from his left. He managed not to jump, and looked up to see Dwalin standing over him, frowning. Despite his expression, Bilbo as fairly sure that he wasn’t actively annoyed with him. 

Hopefully.

“Yes, Master Dwalin?” He had to crane his neck to see him. 

“I offer you my name. Dwalin, son of Fundin,” he said it with surprising gravity; many of the other offers had been casual. Bilbo felt suspicious, suddenly, that he felt obligated to offer his name. It made Bilbo feel awkward; if he refused to take up the offer, it would be an insult, wouldn’t it? 

“I accept. I offer mine as well, Bilbo Baggins, son of Belladonna and Bungo Baggins,” he offered, and Dwalin didn’t seem to notice his pause. He nodded, then, to Bilbo’s surprise, settled against the rocks next to him, watching the camp.

“Someone told you of the meaning behind the offer, Bilbo?” he asked after a few minutes of silence. His name sounded odd coming from Dwalin, Bilbo noticed.

“Yes. It is an honor to be given the names of the Company, and I appreciate the trust in the offer.” Dwalin… didn’t relax, exactly, but seemed to be less tense nonetheless. Bilbo wondered where this was going.

“Good. Wanted to tell you this personally, easier if you know the background,” he said, and Bilbo frowned. Was there more to this?

“Thorin probably won’t offer his name,” Dwalin continued, still looking towards the others. None of them approached, or even looked over. Bilbo suspected that Dwalin had somehow let them all know it was a private conversation. 

“Oh?” He responded intelligently. Truthfully, he hadn’t even thought about Thorin, though now that he was the only one Bilbo hadn’t received an offer from, he did wonder.

“Don’t take it personally. He’s the king, so offering his name means more than for the rest of us,” Dwalin explained, finally looking over at him. 

“Even Fili and Kili?” He asked, curious. Dwalin nodded.

“It’s custom. Princes have more freedom than Kings. For Thorin, the people that can call him by his name have political standing. Even in the wild,” he added after a moment of thought. Bilbo considered it.

The only ones that really called Thorin by his name were related, and presumably already had ranking. Bilbo didn’t really understand the issue, as he would likely be leaving before any type of rank would be relevant, but this was politics. Hobbits didn’t really do politics. So he nodded.

“I understand. I do hope you didn’t make your offer because of some other political rule I don’t know, though,” he added hoping his voice was light enough to hide his worry. Dwalin snorted.

“I leave the politics to my brother. I’m just telling you this cause his Royal Highness won’t bother explaining.” He gestured towards Thorin, who was now watching them from the other side of where a fire pit had been built. He wasn’t glaring, which Bilbo had grown to expect, but he certainly wasn’t smiling. 

Dwalin made to get up, and Bilbo’s hand shot out to stop him.

“Dwalin, one quick question. Would it be insulting if I offered mine to him, when I know he can’t do so?” Dwalin looked at him for a long time before answering.

“To some, it could mean you’re trying to force him to offer his name back. Either way, he’ll likely still call you Mister Baggins.” Bilbo nodded, and let Dwalin go. He stood, and walked towards where Thorin was still watching. 

They fell into a quiet conversation, which Bilbo had no hope of hearing from where he sat. Whatever Dwalin said, Thorin nodded gravely, and made a face that Bilbo thought may have been surprise.

He didn’t let himself worry about it. If there were rules that Thorin couldn’t even offer to let him call him by his name, that was that. 

At least this way, he didn’t know if Thorin would have offered his name, should there not have been this rule in the way. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know what Thorin’s personal choice would have been.


	15. Chapter 15

Bilbo knew that Dwarrow didn’t have many children. Unlike Hobbits, more than two or three children in the same family was rare. Or at least, that was what he had been told. But as he was discovering, rumor and Shire speculation on other species wasn’t always accurate, so he refrained from commenting on the issue when Gloin or Bombur spoke of their families. He’d managed to avoid sticking his foot in his mouth for the most part, and didn’t want to break his record.

“My wife was sure she was pregnant when we left; if she was, that’ll make fourteen little ones. Five girls, too,” Bombur told him as Bilbo helped make their nightly stew. Bilbo smiled at him.

“Quite a number. Congratulations,” he offered, and was rewarded with a broad grin. Bofur, from where he was tending the fire, looked up.

“Heard Hobbits had huge families. You didn’t leave any little fauntlings running about when you came with us, did ya?” Bilbo shook his head, laughing.

“Oh heavens no, I wouldn’t have dared to. A Hobbit running off on an adventure is one thing, but if I left children alone the rest of my kin would’ve chased me down with pitchforks,” he replied. 

Before abruptly wanting to smack himself. Here there were at least two parents, and he was saying that there was something wrong about leaving. Sure enough, Bombur’s face fell, and Bofur frowned. 

“I only mean, I’m not one for- that is to say…” he stammered, before sighing, rubbing his face.

He knew better, he should have watched his tongue. 

“Desperate times, Mister Baggins,” Bofur said solemnly, while Bombur remained silent. Bilbo silently cursed, before turning to them both.

“That isn’t what I meant. The circumstances would be different, had I had children in Bag End. I didn’t mean to insult,” he said carefully, but Bombur still wouldn’t meet his eye. 

“What circumstances?” Bofur asked, and by the look on his face, Bilbo had better treat lightly. He paused, then answered slowly, and in a low voice.

“I’m not the type of Hobbit to settle down with a nice lass and have children with. If there were any children, there would be no other parent to care for them. When I said alone, I did mean completely alone.” Now they looked confused, which wasn’t any better.

“No lass? How’d you expect to be having children that way?” Bofur finally asked. Bilbo shrugged awkwardly.

The low number of children wasn’t the only rumor that Hobbits had heard about Dwarrow. Hobbits had extremely large families, as a rule, so if a few here and there had little interest in having one of their own, most Hobbits were content to let it be. If some other Hobbits wanted to have families, but lacked the proper gender arrangement to do so, it wasn’t unusual for a third party to step in. It wasn’t spoken about much, but it happened often enough that few actively spoke out against such arrangements or preferences. Those that did were few and far between.

Dwarrow, however, he had heard did not see things the same way. He liked to think that the rumors were wrong, or that his friends would at least be able to see past it, but now that he was faced with spilling the truth, he realized how much it would hurt if they weren’t accepting.

“Well, likely through adoption. Which is why there weren’t children in Bag End; there are so few orphans, and it isn’t like Hobbits are handing off their own children for bachelors or… infertile couples to raise.” He hoped they didn’t ask anything else. He didn’t want to reveal the truth, really.

“Infertile couples? How often does that happen in the Shire? From what I heard, Hobbits could give rabbits a run for their money,” Bofur said with humor. 

“Yes, I know, we live underground and have pointed ears. But really, the rabbit thing has been said,” he grumbled, which made Bofur grin, and Bombur looked less down trodden now, so Bilbo would call that a success.

“If you don’t mind me asking,” a voice began behind Bilbo, who turned to see Balin walking forwards with an armload of firewood. Bilbo didn’t realize that the others could hear them, and felt tense all over again.

“If you aren’t interested in lasses, was there a lad you left behind? Or are you uninterested in either?” Balin continued in a low voice, as he set his load down. Bofur added one of the logs to the fire, before looking at Bilbo with interest again. 

Bilbo’s face was burning, from the tips of his ears to his neck, and he refused to look up at either of them. Bombur busied himself with the stew, pointedly not staring, which Bilbo appreciated greatly. 

“I- well, if I-” he sighed, before murmuring, “the first,” in a low voice that both Balin and Bofur leaned in to hear. Balin nodded, smiling consolingly.

“It’s all right lad, you can tell us. Is it not done in the Shire?” Balin asked in such a soothing voice that Bilbo almost began to nod without really noticing, before he realized what Balin had asked.

“What? No, it happens frequently enough. It’s just… not spoken of,” he changed his answer at the last moment. Dwarrow were frequently called stuck in their ways, stubborn and quite a host of other things by more ‘enlightened’ races. He didn’t want to offend them by revealing he had been under the same impression. 

Balin nodded, while Bofur reached forward to clap Bilbo on the shoulder.

“Well, it’s perfectly fine with Dwarrow, speaking or doing, so don’t be lookin so fearful. We aren’t going to judge you for not liking lasses. I say less competition,” Bofur told him with a grin, and Bilbo smiled back. Even though the two were wrong about why he’d been nervous, their honest acceptance was comforting. 

“So, was there a lad, then, that you left back in the Shire?” Bofur asked, leaning close with a smirk. Bilbo scowled at him, even though the corners of his mouth threatened to turn back up.

“No. Confirmed bachelor all the way. I’ve had a few… dalliances, but nothing serious. No, the only people that are going to be waiting for me to return are the Gamgees and the Sackville-Baggins.” Bilbo told him, and Bombur glanced over with renewed interest.

“Who’re they?” The rest of the Company was gathering around as they spoke, Bilbo noticed, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief that the topic had changed. Accepted or not, he really didn’t want either of the princes to start asking questions about his dalliances.

“The Gamgees are neighbors. Old Gaffer works on the garden, and I occasionally tutor his children. I left a note explaining where I was for them, but I doubt they’ll really believe it until I come back. I haven’t traveled much in the past few years,” he explained, while helping Bombur serve up the stew to the gathering Company.

“As to the Sackvilles, they are relatives of mine. If I don’t return in reasonable time, they’ll be after my possessions. Lobelia and Otho, especially, want Bag End, and without me being there to fight it, they are the closest Baggins relatives and will likely inherit it. Lobelia is especially fond of telling me that my home is much too large for a single Hobbit, and I should pass it on to a family with children,” he spat out the last sentence, snarling. The words left a bitter taste on his tongue. 

“They didn’t truly say that, did they, Bilbo?” Ori asked. He looked horrified, as did a number of the others. Bilbo shrugged, trying to play unconcerned.

“Bag End is a large home, and the Sackville Baggins clan have been hoping to get it from the moment my father built it. As it is well known I don’t plan on having fauntlings of my own, there are several relatives that believe I should give it to a larger family and move somewhere smaller, if I insist on not marrying.” He received a number of pitying looks, and scowled, curling over his stew and eating to avoid looking into their eyes. 

“That’s dreadful,” Ori muttered, and several of the others nodded. Balin gave him a kind look, and Bofur looked as furious as he ever did. 

“Could they really force you to give up your home? Or take it while you’re out here with us?” Kili asked, looking anxious. Bilbo pursed his lips, unsure of how to answer.

“Well… if they declare me dead, they have a viable claim to the house and everything in it. My Will does specify that they are not to receive anything, but as I ran off with little forewarning, they may claim that I was mad when I wrote it and therefore it is invalid. Really, it is hard to say. If I was still in the Shire, they wouldn’t be able to try moving me out again, so as long as I get home before any actions are taken, there is no chance,” he said, considering the issue. Hobbits were rarely declared mad after their death, even when their relatives were fighting over their possessions. But as his Will was properly with the mayor, they would likely try. Usually, Wills were just ‘lost’ when there were fights about who would inherit.

He found it ridiculous. Few of his belongings, besides Bag End itself, were really worth fighting over. Most would probably be auctioned off, if it came down to that.

“Again?” Fili’s voice cut through his considerations. He looked back up, and realized that, rather than reassured, the princes looked even more tense. 

Bilbo realized belatedly that discussing the possibility of his home not being there for him when he returned was likely not the best conversation to have with the Company.

“Ah- yes. When my parents passed, they tried to declare me too young to live alone, so I would pass into their care and therefore whatever my parents left me would be under their control. I managed to get the Shirriffs to rule in my favor, so they never tried that route again,” he explained, ignoring the twinge at mentioning his parents and the events that had followed their deaths.

“Your parents had died, and they tried to claim your inheritance?” Nori asked, in such a calm, placid voice that Bilbo looked over to him. His hands were clenched, so that the knuckles were white. Bilbo nodded, shrinking back from the attention. He really didn’t care for everyone looking at him, especially with the rage on most of their faces. Even though it was directed elsewhere, it made him uncomfortable.

“I thought Hobbits didn’t care for riches or wealth,” Thorin said more than asked, and the look on his face clearly said that he wasn’t surprised to hear that Hobbits, too, suffered from greed. Bilbo felt his back stiffen, bristling at the implication.

“Gold and jewels, no. But a nice home in a good town will draw an eye or two. There are bad seeds in every race,” he snapped, and turned back to his food.

Thorin frowned, as several of the other members of the Company gave him judgemental looks before turning to their own food and quiet conversations. He hadn’t meant to insult Bilbo, yet here he was with his boot in his mouth. Negotiating with elves was easier than speaking politely to Hobbits, apparently. 

He was shocked that there could be anyone so callous as to try to take advantage of a grieving child, especially in a race known for their kindness. Not an excuse, exactly, but he hoped enough for Bilbo to ignore his slip.

He wanted to apologize, truly, but became distracted by Balin after eating, discussing the route and whether their supplies would hold until they crossed the Misty Mountains, and by the time he thought of it again, Bilbo was already asleep, and he had the second watch, so he lay down to sleep.

Bilbo couldn’t be that upset, he reasoned, and it would be rude of him to bring up an apparently sensitive subject again for little reason.


	16. Chapter 16

“Bilbo, can I ask you something?” Bilbo looked up, to see Kili looking down at him, two bowls of stew in his hands. Bilbo moved over to make room on the stone he was seated on.

“So long as you share,” he said, and grinned when the second bowl is quickly passed to him. Kili flopped down onto the open seat, managing not to spill his own dinner through some miracle. 

“So what was your question?” He asked, when Kili showed no signs of speaking. Kili twitched, as though startled, and looked back at him.

“What are you planning to do? Once we retake Erebor?” He asked, and there was something odd about his expression. Bilbo pursed his lips, considering the question.

“Well, I haven’t the faintest idea how I’ll get home. I suppose I’ll have to get Gandalf to come back with me. Then I think I’d like to write a book about the journey. It will make a good tale, I think, when all is said and done,” he nodded to himself, pleased with the idea. Writing it all down would be a pleasant way of spending his time, especially in the quiet of the Shire.

Bilbo didn’t allow himself to consider how lonely the thought of Bag End was, empty of company as it usually was.

“So you will go back to the Shire?” Bilbo looked back up, surprised. Kili was staring down at his stew, though Bilbo couldn’t see anything interesting in the murky brown.

“Where else would I go? A mountain, even one as magnificent as Erebor is said to be, is hardly the place for a Hobbit,” he said, confused. Kili frowned, and glanced back up at him.

“We’d welcome you, for helping us reclaim our home. You could stay in the Mountain. Or nearby, like Dale. Uncle wants to rebuild both cities, and there’d be plenty of space to grow plants or dig another home!” Kili’s voice had risen slightly, and Bilbo couldn’t help the nervous glance at the rest of the Company, milling about the camp and the fire. Nobody seemed to be paying them any attention, though.

“Kili. What brought this on? I always planned on going home, when this was through,” Bilbo asked, concerned. Kili scowled heavily, looking very much like his Uncle for a moment.

“You said your relatives would try to take your home, that they’d done it before. We could make you a new home, bring your things along here,” he answered, which was not an answer at all. Bilbo was bewildered. He couldn’t recall anyone mentioning him staying in the Mountain after the quest was completed. He was sure it wasn’t in the Contract anywhere (Nori, at least, would have pitched a fit at being confined to the city).

“I appreciate the thought, Kili, I truly do, but would miss my home, my family.” Bilbo said, quietly. Kili sighed heavily, before standing and, without another word, he walked away. Bilbo stared after him, thoroughly confused.

 

The next morning brought only more oddities.

“How’re you planning on gettin your share back to the Shire anyhow, Bilbo?” Bofur asked him, while Bilbo packed his things away and prepared to leave camp. He blinked, surprised.

“I suppose I haven’t thought of it. It will be quite a lot, won’t it?” Bofur laughed, and Balin glanced over from where he was packing his own things.

“More gold and jewels than someone could spend in a thousand lifetimes, Master Baggins,” he said is a wistful tone. Bilbo shurgged. 

“I can’t imagine what I would do with that much gold,” he exclaimed. What could he possibly purchase? Bilbo had plenty of fine things, clothes and food and a fine house, but even those were nothing in comparison to the wealth of Erebor, if the legends were true. Bilbo had the ridiculous thought of buying a new shirt for every day of the year, before dismissing it with a shake of his head.

“Be no use anyway, if you can’t get it home. Plannin a caravan of wagons?” Bofur joked, and grinned when Bilbo sputtered about the foolishness of that idea. Even he knew the dangers of the road, and a caravan loaded with gold would need an army of guards to even safely reach the Shire.

“I’ll probably take some along with me when I go,” Bilbo finally said, when he’d finished his tirade, “and leave the rest? For repairs and such?” he glanced at Balin, who was now watching him solemnly. 

“Leave it?” Balin asked him, and Bilbo shrugged.

“Well, I can’t bring much home with me, and what good does a pile of treasure do me, halfway across the world?” 

“Could stay in Erebor, when it’s a place worth staying in,” Bofur mused in such an innocent tone that Bilbo whipped around to stare at him. Bofur whistled cheerfully, walking away before Bilbo could ask just what he meant by that.

“What is going on? Balin?” Bilbo asked, turning back to ask the older dwarrow, but Balin had walked off to aid Bombur with dousing the fire. Bilbo stood alone, trying to understand why, quite suddenly, he was being bombarded with offers and suggestions to stay in the Lonely Mountain.

Nobody was looking at him, but now that Bilbo was watching them all, he thought they were, in fact, avoiding looking at him. He frowned, trying to catch someone’s eye, only to be ignored.

“Dwarves,” he muttered under his breath, and resolved to ask later. They had quite a lot of ground to cover, and it would do him no good to stand glaring at the rest of the Company all morning.

 

As Bilbo found, he might have been better off pushing the issue. He approached the others through the day, and nobody would answer him! 

“Why? Are you hoping to stay with us? Someone in particular?” Fili had asked with such a lewd grin Bilbo had turned beet red and stomped away before getting an answer.

“Easier than getting back across the Misty Mountains,” Nori had pointed out, cleaning his knives.

“You could meet Gimli if you did!” Gloin had exclaimed, and Bilbo had patiently listened to his long talk about his son, forgetting his own question in the process.

“There’s plenty of room. No harm in one little Hobbit staying,” Balin had teased.

“Surely you could replant your garden? Even bigger than before!” Oin said (well, shouted), and Bilbo was drawn into a discussion as to what might be good to plant in or around Erebor. Bilbo let himself be distracted; it had been a long time since he had been able to discuss plants, after all, even if Oin only knew medicinal herbs.

“Won’t it be easier to write about the Company if we’re around to talk to? You can’t leave until you finish, at least!” Ori exclaimed, and actually looked worried, as though Bilbo leaving would ruin his memory.

Finally, Bilbo had only two members of the Company to approach, and he didn’t care for either option. With a sigh, he walked forward, more confident than he felt, to where Dwalin was cleaning his axe.

“Mister Dwalin,” he said politely, and waited until Dwalin looked up at him from beneath his perpetual frown to speak again.

“Is there a reason I’ve been receiving invites to stay in Erebor?” There, nice and simple. Dwalin frowned deeper at him.

“Why wouldn’t you?” Bilbo floundered at that. Truthfully, he had been assuming there was some Dwarvish reason for it.

“Besides the fact that I’m a Hobbit?” He managed to ask, and quickly added “But really! Everyone seems to have decided to press the issue today.” He stresses the last word, and Dwalin’s eyebrows rise slightly in realization.

“Only the Royal family can give citizenship to someone,” he said quietly. Bilbo stared at him, before looking over at Kili. Who was pointedly not looking at him.

“So once he…” he trailed off, still puzzled. 

“His Majesty won’t do it, probably wouldn’t occur to him until you were packing up to leave that he didn’t offer,” Dwalin explained, looking almost amused, though whether it was at Bilbo, or the insult to Thorin was unclear. “So his Highness took the liberty.” Bilbo nodded, absently. 

As soon as the Company was aware the offer had been given, even if not by Thorin, they had all swooped in at the same time to convince him. Bilbo wondered how long they had been waiting.

“Thank you,” he managed to say, and quickly retreated to a seat away from the others before anyone could try to speak to him. 

At some point, his fellows had decided they wanted him to stay in the Mountain, instead of leaving for home. There was a large part of Bilbo that was pleased by that, even if part of him was panicked by the very idea of staying so far from the Shire.

He hadn’t considered it, beyond the occasional ridiculous thought of lounging in a pile of gold. He didn’t relish the idea of leaving the Company; they’d become close friends. But he couldn’t fathom living completely under a mountain for the rest of his life, either!

In the end, Bilbo though, now watching the Company blatantly not watch him, he wished that Erebor was closer to the Shire. It was a pleasant thing, being friends with dwarrows (once he got over their odd behavior; throwing plates!) But he didn’t want to give up everything he was familiar with, despite that. 

The others seemed to understand his reluctance, as after that day the repetitive offers and arguments for him to stay dwindled to almost nothing. Bilbo told himself not to worry about it, he could always make a decision later. Or visit! Despite the distance, he could plan a visit. 

There wasn’t anything in the Shire that required his constant presence, after all.


	17. Chapter 17

Kili returned to the camp in the early morning, before the sun had had a chance to fully clear the fog. Thorin glanced at him and nodded once, an almost smile on his face. He’d gone out with the hope of getting something for breakfast, and had come back fruitful; several small ground birds from the snares of last night. 

He handed the birds over to Bombur, who was almost awake, and walked to the side of the camp, where his pack was still laid out, half open from leaving. Fili was still asleep, having done the middle night shift, so he moved away quickly, plopping onto some area of ground cleared of frost to sort through the other things he’d found.

“Kili, don’t eat that,” Bilbo said sharply. Kili glanced up, eyes wide, holding a sprig of berries in one hand. He set them back down carefully. 

“Poisonous?” He guessed. It wasn’t hard to figure out, given Bilbo’s panicked gaze.

“Very. Haven’t you ever heard of mistletoe?” He asked, walking closer to stand next to Kili, who was looking at the berries suspiciously, thankful for the gloves that kept the plant from touching his hands.

“I know the name. Isn’t that the thing Men hang up during the winter?” He asked, moving to the side so Bilbo could also sit somewhere without frost. He did so carefully, pulling the edges of his coat around himself. Bilbo didn’t have a cloak.

“Well, yes. Hobbits do to. You’re supposed to kiss while underneath it; people hang it in doorways. It’s nice to have something green around when everything is cold and frozen,” Bilbo murmured wistfully, looking up at the trees, which were golden red and trimmed in white.

“Kiss, huh?” Kili asked, grinning. Bilbo’s face abruptly went red, looking away. Kili’s grin stretched wider, and he leaned forward, hanging the sprig above their heads.

“So…?” He said, tilting his head. Bilbo looked at him, then rolled his eyes and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“See if I tell you anything ever again. I may let you eat the berries next time,” he grumbled, “What possessed you to bring those back to camp?” 

Kili shrugged, setting the plant to the side for the moment. He noticed Thorin was watching them closely at the moment, frowning. He gave a cheerful wave behind Bilbo’s back.

“We go out into the woods all the time, but we almost never bother bringing back plants or fruit. Thought I might give it a shot, see if I could forage without killing someone,” he said under his breath, before laughing. “Guess I learned my lesson. Dwarrow are not meant to be good at plants.” Bilbo smacked his shoulder, almost knocking him over entirely.

“Guessing wrong,” he hissed at him, “and not being capable are entirely separate things. Most Hobbits would say we aren’t capable of ever doing something like this quest we’re on, and yet here I am. So I will hear no talk of what you are or are not capable of, thank you.” Kili, feeling cowed by the glare he was receiving, nodded.

“Now, this time of year, most plants will be well picked over. If it isn’t, they’re usually poisonous or taste terrible. You can start by looking for familiar things?” he offered, settling back to lean on his hands behind him.

“Most things look the same,” Kili said, but it was in a low tone. He had no idea how to really tell things apart. Oin did, he needed to know which plants worked as medicine, but Kili was primarily a hunter. He could find signs of plants being broken, sure, that’s how you track a wounded deer, but what those things were? 

Well, they were green.

“Sure, like all gems are the same,” Bilbo said, eyebrows raised. Kili blinked.

“You can’t tell gems apart?” He asked, looking at Bilbo with surprise. The Hobbit not knowing something seemed… wrong to him. He spoke Elvish! He knew weird things about the geography of the area, how to hide from even experienced trackers! And telling gemstones apart seemed so basic?

“I could probably narrow down by color, but besides that? No. Not at all,” he said easily.

“But they’re so simple Look, color is important, but how hard they are and what shape they are is also really important,” he explained earnestly, “When we get to Erebor I bet you’ll pick it up really quick.” Bilbo shrugged.

“Perhaps. But you could just as easily pick up plant life. And it’ll be more useful for you to know what you can eat than me knowing a garnet from a ruby.”

“What’s this? Master Baggins, are you offering to teach our young Kili to live off leaves and bushes?” Kili winced, turning to look at where Dwalin was standing. Balin was standing behind him, running his hands over his beard. Bilbo puffed up in annoyance.

“Well, it would be good for him to know whether these berries would kill someone or not,” he grumbled, gesturing towards the sprig. Dwalin glanced down dismissively.

“Probably would,” he grumbled in his deep voice, “seems most things we find in the woods are happy to kill us.” Balin nodded, but he looked thoughtful.

“It mightn’t be a bad idea, letting Master Baggins show him a few things. If you are indeed willing?” He asked, turning his head to look at Bilbo, who looked flustered.

“Well! I’m not saying I’m an expert, not by any means. But I’m willing, yes, of course!” he babbled, but he looked pleased. Kili thought about the lessons with Ori, and how genuinely happy he seemed when he was teaching.

“I would be honored. What can I do in exchange?” Kili asked, cutting off Balin’s similar question. He wanted this to be between them, not Thorin’s advisor.

“Teach me about gemstones,” Bilbo said immediately. Kili nodded, quickly enough to make his hair fall into his face. Bilbo chuckled. Balin nodded, apparently pleased. Dwalin snorted, but he was eyeing the berries on the ground.

“So are they poisonous?” He asked, eyebrows raised. Bilbo nodded.

“Yes, very. Really, how do you not recognize mistletoe? It’s a popular tradition with Men, surely taverns have it all over?” he asked, picking up the sprig to hold it out in front of Dwalin. 

Dwalin, to his credit, crouched slightly to look closer. Kili hadn’t recognized it while bringing it back, even sniffing it to see if he could tell by smell.

“Nope. Mistletoe? That plant you have to kiss under?” He asked, and actually took the plant form Bilbo’s hands, poking at the berries dubiously. Bilbo shook his head.

“Yes, you have to kiss under it. No, don’t-” And Dwalin held it up over his head, actually grinning at Bilbo’s quickly reddening face.

“I- oh, I do hate Dwarrow,” he muttered, and kissed Dwalin square on the mouth. Dwalin reeled back slightly at the impact before Bilbo pulled away.

“Satisfied?” He asked, but despite his glare he was smiling slightly.

“For now. So, how can you tell this from some other white berry growing in the woods?” Dwalin asked, falling gracelessly to the ground, sitting in a half sprawl. Bilbo stared, eyebrows drawn together uncertainly. Balin sat as well, more carefully than Dwalin. He winced as his knees bent, using his brother’s shoulder to settle onto the ground.

“Well. Um. So, first of, mistletoe grows on other trees. So it will be wound around other branches. You can tell it apart by the leaves more than berries, though. Look at the shape. See?” Bilbo explained, pointing towards the leaves.

Kili felt like he picked it up quickly, but wondered about the brothers Fundin. Neither seemed incredibly interested in the idea of being able to tell trees apart. 

It became more obvious throughout the day, as one by one each Dwarf spoke to one of the brothers, then seemed to disappear into the woods. Most came back looking disappointed. Fili was the last, and he handed something small to Balin with an air of triumph.

There was just a hint of green on his fingers. 

“So, does everyone want to kiss the Hobbit, or make him blush?” Kili asked his brother, as they gathered firewood for the evening. Fili grinned unrepentantly.

“Bit of both. Dwalin apparently thought it was hilarious, watching the whole thing,” he said happily, then sobered up slightly. “And Balin is hoping using a Hobbity tradition might help with the whole, you know,” he gestured vaguely. Kili nodded, glancing back towards camp. 

Even though he couldn’t see the camp, he was willing to bet Bilbo was sitting a bit away, maybe talking to someone, maybe not. But he wasn’t in the center. And he wasn’t seeking out anyone to have a chat with.

So he didn’t warn Bilbo when Fili came up, sprig of mistletoe in hand, to land a quick kiss on his cheek.

“What-” he started, looking startled, before groaning at the sight of the red berries. He glanced around the camp, looking around the camp. Nobody was looking at them. They were very carefully not looking at them.

“Should I look forward to that from everyone?” He asked, deadpan. Fili shrugged, pulling a small length of cloth out of his pocket and wrapping the mistletoe in it.

“Probably. Most folk are a bit iffy about this kissing thing, hard to tell. Nori seemed very interested in the whole thing,” he told him cheerfully. Bilbo groaned, head dropping into his hands. The tips of his ears were red.

He was also grinning, barely hidden by his hands.


	18. Chapter 18

“Taste this, Mister Baggins,” Bombur offered. He was holding out a spoon enticingly. Unlike many of the stews they’d had on the road, this smelled wonderful. Bilbo happily took a sample and made appropriate noises. It was heavier spiced than most Hobbit foods, but Bilbo had quickly grown used to it, and this was particularly delicious.

“My wife’s recipe,” Bombur declared proudly. “Bofur found the right spices at the last town we passed,” he added, explaining why they had not had this particular recipe before.

“So how did you and your wife meet?” Bilbo asked quietly, watching the rest of the group with tired eyes. He didn’t mind them all together, he really didn’t, but lately they had all been making so much effort to include him that he felt… overwhelmed. One on one was easier. He covered his nerves by helping stoke the fire, keeping it at the right temperature to simmer instead of boil.

“Oh, it was one of our holidays,” Bombur said, then paused thoughtfully. “Little hearts day.” Bilbo blinked at him, frowning.

“I’m sorry?” Bombur shrugged, apologetic.

“The name is in our language, that’s the closest translation. It takes place near the beginning of spring, where couples exchange gifts and spend the day together. Young dwarrows, and some older ones,” he whispered conspiratorially, gesturing towards his oblivious brother, “use it to flirt.”

Bilbo chuckled lowly, keeping an eye on the fire.

“Sounds like a holiday we have. Blossom Day; most younger Hobbits give flowers to each other, it’s when many propose courtship. So, did you approach her on, ah, Little Hearts?” Bombur shook his head, smiling absently. 

“No, she came to me. Had a huge pot full of this stew in her arms, beard braided beautifully. She had these little copper pins, simple things, but they shone like the sun that day in her hair,” Bombur sighed, staring into space with a small smile. Bilbo grinned at him.

“The pot was the courtship gift, of course, she’s a copper worker, but she wouldn’t let me even look at it until I’d eaten it all,” Bombur continued, still looking dreamy. “Knew I was a cook, after all, wanted it known that she had learned my craft before asking.” Bofur popped up behind Bombur, so quickly that Bilbo fell back onto the log behind him in surprise.

“My brother’s quite the catch, Mister Baggins,” Bofur told him cheerily, leaning on Bombur’s shoulder, “so my dearest sister-in-law wanted to impress him. Mind, he hasn’t told you he was always admiring her work from across the way,” he whispered, loudly enough that Bombur could hear him. He received a smack with the ladle, but both brothers were grinning widely.

“Yup! Mooning over the careful curves and pretty lines instead of cooking,” Bofur continued, even as Bombur knocked him off his shoulder and went back to work, face slightly red.

“Oh, and her copper work was pretty nice to look at too!” Bofur finished, throwing his head back to laugh. Bilbo rolled his eyes, ignoring the heat in his ears when some of the others glanced their way.

“What’s so funny?” Fili asked, wandering over. He tried to snag a spoonful, only to have his hand smacked away by Bombur.

“Ah! Just tellin Bilbo here about how Bombur and his wife Tilbum met. Quite the story, right on…” Bofur trailed off, looking at Bilbo awkwardly.

It wasn’t the first time they’d almost slipped up, said something in their own tongue instead of Westron. Bilbo knew outsiders were not allowed to learn it, and tried not to push.

Much. He was a scholar, the thought of learning a new language was so enticing.

“Little Hearts,” Bombur offered. Bofur considered.

“Close ‘nuff,” he said to himself. Fili looked over at Bilbo curiously.

“Do Hobbits celebrate, ah, Little Hearts?” He asked brightly. There was a twinkle of mischief in his eye. Bilbo squinted at him, but couldn’t see how this could end in a prank. 

“We cave something similar, though it’s called Blossom Day at home, since it takes place in spring,” he replied, watching Fili’s grin widen.

“You ever get someone at your door? Flowers and treats in their hands, hoping to court you?” Fili asked, and Bilbo realized he didn’t seem like he was teasing. Bilbo shrugged, making a face.

“A few times, when I was younger. There was only one serious offer of courtship, though,” Bilbo mused. Fili leaned in, eyes wide. He looked even younger now. 

“And?” He asked eagerly. Bilbo stared off into the darkening sky, thinking back.

“I accepted,” Bilbo said quietly, “but it didn’t work out. They married a distant cousin of mine a few years later, actually. They’re a lovely couple,” Bilbo added, when Fili looked crestfallen. It didn’t help.

“You knew I wasn’t involved with anyone,” Bilbo reminded him, frowning. Fili shrugged.

“I did,” Fili agreed in a low tone. “I guess I don’t know what I was hoping to hear.” 

Bilbo thought he did. Fili seemed like he might be a bit of a romantic; he’d probably been hoping for something more dramatic. A romantic tragedy, perhaps.

“Were you lonely?” Fili asked, in such a quiet voice that Bilbo had to lean in to hear. Bofur and Bombur seemed to have slipped away at some point; giving them privacy?

Bilbo debated his answer; he hardly wanted to admit anything so personal. But the idea of lying seemed deplorable, given the look on Fili’s face.

“Perhaps a bit,” Bilbo answered, in an equally quiet tone. Fili nodded, and then brightened, resembling his brother for a moment.

“Then it’s a good thing we came through your door, isn’t it! You can’t be lonely right now, can you?” Bilbo had to laugh.

“Of course not! To be honest, it’s a bit overwhelming at times, having so many people around. In a good way, of course,” he added, when FIli’s face dropped slightly.

“Is it so strange? You said you have a large family?” Fili asked. Bilbo shrugged.

“And we see each other fairly frequently, given the distance between our homes. Parties and celebrations, little visits and so on. But on a day to day basis, I truly see few people. Mostly the Gamgees,” Bilbo explained. 

“Oh,” Fili said, blinking slowly.

“Is that why you stay away sometimes?” Bombur asked from behind him. Bilbo jumped.

“Ah- er, yes, sometimes. You’re all very boisterous, you see, I’m still getting used to it,” he explained, pressing his palm to his chest. How Bombus had snuck up on them, he didn’t know. For such a loud group, they seemed remarkably quiet when they wanted. Which seemed to mostly be to scare Bilbo out of his wits. 

“Well! We’ll have to work to get you used to us!” Fili declared, looking so pleased with his decision Bilbo couldn’t help but smile back. 

It was nice, the feeling of being accepted. Lately, the dwarrows had been making every effort to make him feel included. It more than made up for the previous standoffish behavior.

Granted, a few certain dwarrow were less… welcoming than others, but Bilbo was fairly sure Leaders of Important Quests had to be somewhat standoffish. For the good of the quest, of course.

He hoped so, anyway. Otherwise Tho- certain dwarrow were just being rude for no particular reason besides… his personality? Bilbo’s personality?

“So Fili,” Bilbo asked, to distract himself, “Did you ever ask someone to court? Give a gift on Little Hearts?” He had the great joy of watching Fili’s face go as red as the fire he was standing by, all the way to his ears.

“Um- well, possibly,” he stammered, looking around warily. Nobody else was nearby except Bombur; Bofur had reappeared over by Nori, the pair laughing loudly about something.

“I did,” he whispered, “But I didn’t say who it was from. More mysterious if I don’t, right? Makes someone more…” he trailed off uncertainly.

“It makes it more exciting? To have a secret admirer?” Bilbo offered, while Bombur frowned, still working over his stew. It was likely nearly done by now, but he had yet to call for the others to get food.

“Yes!” Fili said, perhaps a bit loudly. He hunched his shoulders, quieting down. “Plus, I’m of the Royal Line. There’s always the concern that whoever I approach may…” he sighed. Bilbo could guess. Become a target. Be interested in Fili for his position, rather than himself.

“Of course. So how did it go?” Bilbo asked. Fili frowned, ducking his head.

“Well enough, until I insisted Uncle let Kili and me on this quest. I left a note explaining where I was going, with my name. When we get there, I’ll find out,” Fili said quietly. Bilbo winced.

“Then you’ll have something else to look forward to, when we get there. Have you planned out what to say?” Bilbo chirped cheerfully. Fili nodded, and looked at him again.

“Of course! I have a gift planned and everything! Once we get there and get the forges working, I’m going to make them a set of silver knives, and I have designs for the handles so they’ll match and-”

Bilbo let Fili continued to explain, growing more and more excited by the moment. He was curious who had caught the Prince’s eye, incredibly curious, but he’d let it go for now. If he was lucky, he might be able to stay in Erebor long enough to meet them in person!


	19. Chapter 19

Bilbo didn’t ask why they placed the bodies in caskets and hollows in the stone. He didn’t ask why their hair was braided differently, what the significance of the beads was, whether it mattered which weapon they were buried with. He didn’t try to read the carved lettering over each body, though he knew it must say more than just their names.

He couldn’t ask, could barely force words past his lips, despite his usual habit of babbling to cover his emotions. He felt too drained to even try.

He remained quiet, as the songs and drums echoed in the empty caves, which felt more and more like a tomb with every moment they spent inside the walls. He could almost feel the walls closing in, the air becoming stale as the outer world was closed off. Even the largest rooms, the throne and the entrance halls, felt like he could suffocate at any moment.

His Dwarrows had described this place with such wonder, even those that had never set foot in its’ walls. Something almost beyond description. A place worth risking everything, absolutely everything, to recover for their people. 

All Bilbo could see were dragon fires and the unnatural shine of gold beyond measure. 

One of the Dwarrow had asked what he would do with his share. He had almost been sick at the idea of taking any of it with him, and had been unable to answer. He doubted he would be able to take anything with him but his pack. He would swear, sometimes, he could see something strange glimmering in the depths of gems and precious metals. It was likely his imagination.

Perhaps one day he could look back and be in awe at the city under the Mountain, the depths it reached and the heights to which it soared. One day he might look back on his adventure with something other than sorrow. Fondness, perhaps, or even nostalgic joy, when he was old and tired.

But it would not be this day, and it likely would not be the next.

“I suppose this is rather different than what you’re used to,” Balin offered quietly, settling next to him on the cold stone seat. Bilbo glanced at him, tried to smile. He didn’t think it was successful, and it pulled at a scar along the side of his face, so he stopped.

“Dwarrows are from the stone, after all, and it is to stone that we eventually return. It is a great honor to be laid to rest in the Halls Under the Mountain,” Balin said gently, at odds with the still-healing scars across his face and dark rings under his eyes. “Many of our kin had to be put to rest elsewhere, and not all of them will be able to be brought home.” Bilbo shuddered at the thought.

“My parents were put to the earth, in the gardens,” Bilbo managed to say, to distract himself from the idea, and his voice croaked, rough from disuse. “There were flowers laid with them. Dozens, from everyone that could come, and some that could not make it in time. Messages for when they awake in the next world, reminding them they would be missed, that- that they were loved.” 

He could picture the scene; the flowers, the clean white shrouds. The Took clan had all been in attendance, the solemness of the affair taming even their boisterous energy.

Bilbo remembered people watching him then, too, not approaching. Just letting him sit alone in his grief. The Old Took had sat with him for a time, no words spoken, and that had apparently been all his family thought he needed.

“Ah. Flowers again, instead of metal and gems,” Balin remarked quietly, bringing Bilbo back to present. “In that, we are similar. The beads and gems they wear symbolize who they were, so that in Mahal’s Halls they will be recognized by their kin. The braids show the deeds the accomplished, so that all who they meet will know what they fell for.” Balin said all of this like it was so easy-

Bilbo knew he was being uncharitable, that no doubt Balin was mourning in his own way. Perhaps it was the nature to Dwarrows to accept death easier, when it so frequently came for them.

Or, perhaps, it was simply Bilbo’s nature to dwell on things that he could not change.

A soft whisper in the back of his mind said he should have been able to help, to stop what had happened. He shoved it aside; he was a simple Hobbit, in the end, and he had little power amongst kings and wizards. 

All he had was a magic ring and a quiet step. Even that had woken the dragon, and hadn’t the entire point in bringing him been to avoid that?

“Are there such flowers nearby? Growing on the mountainside, perhaps?” Balin asked, and Bilbo turned towards him this time, trying to stay in the moment.

“Ah… perhaps?” Bilbo stuttered out, completely bewildered. Balin smiled at him, and Bilbo could now see the aching emptiness he felt in his wise old eyes. He let himself be pulled up and outside, away from the tomb. Outside, a breeze ruffled his hair, and he breathed.

 

Bilbo slipped back inside, later, feeling out of place and so, so tired. Few Dwarrows were left, and they all seemed content to let him approach the three bodies laid out.

He didn’t really let himself think about what flowers were passing from his hands onto crossed hands and still bodies. It was fall, he had been lucky, truly, to have found what he could. 

Chrysanthemums would have to do, though he would have happily drowned the Durins in blossoms if only he could find the right flowers, the right words to explain how he would miss them. What they had meant to an old Hobbit that had travelled across the world for a song and the promise of adventure.

Well, he’d gotten his adventure. He’d just forgotten that they often ended in death and glory instead of a safe return home.

It was ridiculous, Bilbo thought, as he carefully wove the flowers into collars and lapels (not their hair, it would be too presumptuous even for him). Ridiculous that of all the survivors, he was amongst them. Him, the untrained soft Hobbit, when there were three trained warriors laid out before him.

One of the new Dwarrow were watching him. Dain, he remembered, it was Dain. He would be crowned in the morning, Bilbo had been told, until Dis could be reached. She had an equal claim, after all, but the Mountain needed a King. Someone to rule and protect the vast treasures inside.

Not that anyone truly believed she would be willing to rule, when the throne and the Mountain had taken so much from her. She had disagreed vehemently with the quest to start, everyone said, and had never shown any interest in Erebor or the Throne Under the Mountain.

The whisperers amongst the Dwarrow wondered if she would even come home, or stay in the Blue Mountains with her grief.

“Master baggins,” Dain said quietly, when Bilbo stepped back, stared dully at the small spots of color against the cold of the tomb. Bilbo glanced at him. He could see something of a resemblance, looking at the faces before him. It made this that much harder.

“Kind of ye,” Dain rumbled, nodding carefully at the blossoms. He had some bandages around his head, ruining the elaborate hair style he sported. “Leaving em a reminder it wasn’t just Dwarrow that witnessed the quest. Hobbit thing, I suppose?”

“They deserve better,” Bilbo replied, ignoring the question, and he knew he wasn’t just talking about the faded blooms that he had managed to find in the craigs of the mountainside. He didn’t think it was a kindness, at any rate, to leave reminders of himself with them. They weren’t hobbits, after all, and it might have seemed frivolous, these small blossoms laid to rest amongst such finery.

But the thought of sending them to the Halls without a message from Bilbo, thinking he might not have cared at all? 

He couldn’t stand it.

“Aye, but we don’t always get what we deserve,” Dain told him, with a stiff gesture that encompassed most of the room. Bilbo nodded, then bowed belatedly, as close to what he had seen the others do. He’d forgotten, for a moment, he was amongst Kings and Lords, battle-weary and exhausted as they all were.

Had Bilbo been less distracted, he might have remembered how nervous he had been meeting the Dwarrow the first time, speaking to Elven Lords in their golden halls. It would only be far later, out of the shadow of the Mountain, that he would realize how much he had truly changed. It would one day amuse him, how easy it had become.

Dain pulled him straight again, a soft smile on his face as he patted his shoulder. There was something dark and sad in his eyes when he spoke.

“None of that! You’re good as kin, far as I’m concerned.”

And Bilbo had nothing to say to that.

 

Dain had tried to talk him into walking to the feast together, but bilbo claimed he had something to finish first. Dain patted his shoulder again, gave him a too-knowing look, and walked away.

Bilbo wasted no time, gathering his already packed belongings and moving towards the gates. Gandalf refused to sleep in the Halls, or perhaps did not feel welcome, and stayed in the ruins of Dale with the men. He had told Bilbo to meet him whenever he wanted to begin the journey home.

Balin was waiting at the gates, gazing out towards Mirkwood. He didn’t look up when Bilbo paused, rocking from one foot to the other.

“They’ll sing tales of glory throughout the night,” Balin told him. “If you stay, you might hear your own name a time or two.” Bilbo shrugged, ignoring his own discomfort at the idea. He wasn’t a hero, his name didn’t belong in songs and tales.

He thought again of Hobbit funerals, where afterwards they gathered, friends and family alike, and remembered the good times, and the bad. Reminding each other why they would miss the dearly departed, what little jokes and habits would never again be completed.

He thought about it, and the pain he could still see lingering in the eyes of Balin, of Dain, of every Dwarrow he had known on their journey. For all the pain he felt, he had only barely known them. He felt like an intruder into others’ sorrow and mourning, and at the thought of going to celebrate their life, he shuddered.

He thought, in the end, that the others understood, when they wished him well. So Bilbo put the Lonely Mountain behind him.

 

Many years later, Bilbo looked up at the Mountain, pack heavy on his shoulders and walking stick in his hand. The Mountainside was dotted with tiny spots of color and awash in shades of green.

He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And with this, I'm marking this as complete. I might add new sections in the future, but at the moment, I think I'm tapped out on ideas for this series.


End file.
